Alfred Jones (and Others) and the Philosopher's Stone
by friendofthequn
Summary: <html><head></head>England's had it up to here with America, so he decides to send him off to Hogwarts (along with Canada to keep an eye on him). Little do any of them realize, this year is going to be unusual even by the standards of a school of witchcraft and wizardry. Rated T just to be safe.</html>
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR AXIS POWERS HETALIA, no matter how much I might wish otherwise.

**PROLOGUE: SO YOU WANT TO BE A WIZARD?**

England sat down on his couch, a cup of tea in one hand and a newspaper in the other. This was hardly an odd occurrence. As the personification of a nation, it was a good idea to keep oneself appraised of current events, lest you find yourself ducking out of a meeting to vomit blood into a toilet because of a surprise hit to your economy. And as the personification of England in particular, it was unthinkable to not have at least eight cups of tea per day.

What made that particular day special, however, was the newspaper, entitled the _Daily Prophet._ The headline read _Ministry of Magic Representative Makes Shocking Blunder._ The picture beneath depicted a beleaguered-looking middle-aged man in a robe making a speech. The picture was moving, the apparent Ministry of Magic representative silently speaking and making sweeping arm motions, accidentally hitting a younger man with a quill and scroll – possibly an assistant – in the face.

England chuckled. "I see the Ministry is the same as ever," he said to himself. How long had it been since he'd read the _Prophet_? Ten years? Yes, that sounded about right. He'd kept his distance from the magical community since…

And just like that, his good mood vanished. Thinking about the days of Voldemort's reign of terror always put a scowl on England's face. Having a bunch of racist sociopaths running around killing innocent people was bad enough for a nation, but as soon as magic got involved the effects were amplified. All the other nations had been very confused and worried when he started coughing up blood without any noticeable change in his economy.

Britain took a gulp of tea. Thank God that baby somehow managed to take that menace down. Nobody had any idea how he'd managed it, but Voldemort vanished, leaving nothing but a now leaderless organization, an orphaned baby boy, and an impact on the wizarding world that would be felt for years to come. What was the kid's name again… Harvey Carver or something? He'd probably be going to Hogwarts this year.

A smile once again found its way onto England's face as he recalled the reason he'd started checking up on current magical events. That reason should be finding its way to him any second now…

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door to his living room was kicked open so hard it went flying off its hinges and crashed into the opposite wall, smashing a vase. England sighed. He'd liked that vase.

"Heeeey, England!" America called as he walked into the room, waving at him. A crumpled letter was in his hand. "I just got this super weird letter from somewhere around your place. Got any idea what's up with that?"

Ame- Canada stood at his brother's shoulder, looking rather sheepish and with his pet polar bear hugged to his chest. "I'm sorry about the mess," he said quietly. He was also holding a letter, though his was less crumpled.

England's grin widened. "Oh, yes. Remember how you were telling me a little while back how you'd like to see some magic?"

America laughed. "Oh, yeah, I remember that! You were talking with your imaginary friend about-"

"FLYING MINT BUNNY IS REAL AND HE IS A MUCH BETTER FRIEND THAN YOU EVER WERE!"

"Sheesh, dude, calm down!" While England struggled to regain his composure, America continued, "But, come on, how is anyone supposed to believe you're followed around by an invisible green rabbit with wings? I mean, seriously, man, that's more crazy than magical."

England had managed to calm down a bit by tuning out America's words. "_As I was saying_, I believe I've found the perfect way for you to learn more about magic."

Canada looked at the letter. "So you enrolled us in this… Hogwarts, eh?"

Koumajiro looked up at him. "Who?"

"I'm Canada," Canada said automatically.

America looked at his letter again. "Wait, what does it mean by 'we await your owl'? Can't we just mail it?"

England shook his head. "No. Wizards use birds in place of a postal system." America and the other Ame- _Canada_ stared at him like… well… like he'd just suggested using birds in place of a postal system. "Yes, I know, it's crazy, but magic and technology don't mix well."

America crossed his arms and put on his best negotiation face. "All right… so why should I-" Canada let out a small cough. "-we go along with this? What kind of magic are we gonna learn at this Pigshorts?"

"Hogwarts," England corrected. "I haven't checked up on the curriculum, but I believe the classes for first years are Astronomy, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts-"

"THEY HAVE A CLASS FOR BEING HEROES?!" America looked around, any trace of professionalism gone. "Where's the nearest owl?!"

Canada sighed, resting his chin on top of Kumajiro's head. "Well… I guess we're going," he whispered.

"Who?"

"I'm Canada."

England smiled, taking another sip of tea. It was almost frightening how easily America could be manipulated.

**A/N: Yeah, another 'America and Canada go to Hogwarts' fic... I couldn't help myself. Do you want to see these two go to Diagon Alley and get their wands and stuff, or skip straight to Platform 9 3/4? Free imaginary hugs for reviewers! \(^-^)/**


	2. Chapter 1

I do not own Harry Potter or Hetalia.

**CHAPTER 1: SHOPPING SPREE**

America felt the car lurch to a stop and looked up from his Gameboy. "Are we there yet?" he asked, looking out the window. They were parked on the side of a busy London street, a stream of pedestrians to one side and cars to the other. It was _way _too normal to be what England had described.

England undid his seatbelt and leaned over to look back at America. "I was about to say my spell worked better than expected," he said. "But then I remembered that it was you we're talking about."

America put away the handheld. "Just trying to fit in with the other little wizard kids!" he said brightly. England had used his ridiculous 'joke' wand with a star on the end to give America and Canada the appearance of eleven-year-olds, but of course it only went skin deep. On the inside America was still as awesome and heroic as ever. He reached over to open the door.

"Wait. We need to go over the rules." America let out a groan and glared at England. He ignored it and continued, "One; don't call each other by your real names. That goes for me, as well. Do you remember them?"

America let out another groan. "Dude, come on! Let's go do some shopping already!" He tried to open his door, but it was locked. He sat back in his seat, crossing his arms angrily and grumbling, "I'm Alfred Jones, Canada's Matthew, and you're Arthur Kirkland. Let's go already!"

England made no move to unlock the door. "Two; do not reveal who or what you really are. That means no reminiscing about things that happened over eleven years ago, no lifting things that would be too heavy for an adrenaline-fueled human, and no arousing people's suspicions in general. These wizards have no idea we exist, and it's best if it stays that way. Understood?"

America rolled his eyes and muttered, "Yeah, yeah, we get it, now let's go!"

England still ignored him. "And, finally, the most important part. Three; do not purchase anything that isn't on your list of supplies. Am I understood?"

America blinked. "Wait, seriously? _That's _the most important part?!"

Canada, meanwhile, simply nodded. "Understood," he whispered.

"Good." The doors audibly unlocked. "I've got a summoning circle waiting in my basement just in case you feel like breaking any of the rules."

The smell of hamburgers hit America's nostrils like a truck as soon as he stepped out of the car. _Sweet! _"Yo, Iggy!" he called to England. "Can we make a burger stop?"

England glared at him. "Did you not just hear rule one?"

America held up his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, chill out, dude! It's a nickname. Even totally normal, everyday dudes like us can have nicknames, right?"

England stormed off, growling a string of curses that hadn't been in use for over a centuries. Out of the corner of his eye America noticed Canada stand next to him and say something, but it was too quiet to be heard over the roar of the city. "WHAT?!" America yelled, putting a hand to his ear. Canada jumped at the noise, holding his polar bear tighter to his chest. A few passerby gave him funny looks, too.

Canada stepped closer and said slightly louder, "Are you sure antagonizing Arthur is the greatest idea right now, eh?"

"OH, THAT? PFFFFT!" America exclaimed. Even more passerby looked at him. Good. A hero always deserved the spotlight! "WHAT'S THE WORST HE CAN DO? RECITE SOME STUPID LYRICS WHILE WEARING A BLACK CLOAK? THAT'S MORE LIKE SOMETHING AN EMO TEENAGER DOES!" Canada was hugging his bear even tighter now, eyes darting from side to side. "DUDE, WHAT'S UP WITH YOU? YOU'RE ACTING ALL TWITCHY AND WEIRD!"

A hand suddenly dropped onto America's shoulder. A chill radiated from it, making him shiver. A familiar, echoing voice said, "And now rule two is seriously in danger."

America looked up at England and- yup, the menacing aura was coming from him. Britain leaned down, eyes glazed over, and whispered, "Russia is going to be so pleased if you break rule three."

America casually hid behind his brother, his laugh much shakier than usual. "Hahahaha, dude, I was just joking! Seriously! Now, uh, where were we going?"

England closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The dark aura vanished, and when he opened his eyes and spoke again he was back to his usual self. "Just stop talking and follow me."

The hero decided that it was hardly heroic to break rules- that was what villains did, after all, wasn't it?- and followed after England, whistling the 'Star Spangled Banner' loudly. Britain had said nothing about whistling, after all.

He hadn't even finished the chorus when they arrived at a tiny, grubby-looking pub and stopped. "Here we are," said England, gesturing to the shabby epitome of sticking out like a sore thumb. "The Leaky Cauldron. And no, you're not allowed to get a drink."

"Ugh, so not cool," America muttered. "Stupid underage body…" They entered the pub, and America found himself in an almost unprecedented situation. Almost everyone in the room was crowded around something that wasn't him. If it wasn't for that, he probably would have paid more attention to the crazy hats and guys wearing dresses. But right at the moment, he was more interested in seeing who had stolen his spotlight.

The only thing visible in the center of the crowd was the biggest dude America had ever seen. Seriously, he was _huge_. Wait, actually, if he stood on his tiptoes he could just about see the top of a messy black-haired head. Not that it mattered. Nobody, no matter how big, could match the United States of America when it came to big personalities.

He had opened his mouth to say, 'HAVE NO FEAR, YOUR HERO IS HERE!' or something along those lines when England slapped his hand over his mouth and started dragging him towards the back door. America shouted into his hand, trying in vain to kick or punch him, but he still getting used to being physically eleven again, and kept missing.

Before he knew it they were out the back door and in a small walled-off courtyard. England released him and walked over to a dustbin, pulling a wand out of his pocket. America spat to get the taste of Britain out of his mouth (even his hand tasted bad) and said, "Dude, what was that all about? Those people clearly needed a hero!"

England was focusing on the brick wall above the dustbin and sounded distracted when he said, "If by hero you mean obnoxious imbecile, even then the answer is no." He tapped a brick three times and stepped back, stowing away his wand. Before America could insult him back a hole appeared in the wall. It grew and grew until a huge archway had replaced the wall, leading to a twisting cobblestone street. "Welcome to Diagon Alley," announced England.

Realization dawned on America. "Oh, it's a strip mall. You could have just said so."

England was clearly trying not to blow his top. "I repeat, stop talking and follow me. And no whistling this time."

They walked down the street, and America found himself so busy taking in everything around him he didn't mind his enforced silence. Cauldrons that looked like they belonged in a production of that play with the witches and angry Scottish guy, dragon liver on sale (ew, who would pay money to obtain dragon liver?), a shop filled with owls and the aroma of bird crap, the sickest broomstick he'd ever seen on display in a window, a clothing store full of dresses, a bookstore (which didn't look like it sold comics, so he wasn't very interested), barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes (again, who would _want _those things?), quills and weird paper, a globe of the moon…

He was looking at a window full of liquids best described as 'potions' when he bumped into England. "Here we are," the older nation announced. "Gringotts." America looked up at the towering snowy-white building.

He shrugged. "Meh. I've seen bigger."

**A/N: Gah why is America's POV so hard for me to write? T_T Anyways, thank you to you beautiful people who reviewed/followed/favourited/read my story! Hugs for everyone! (^-^)(^-^) I'm glad you guys wanted to see Diagon Alley. I always loved those segments in the books. See you guys next time for wand-shopping from Canada's POV (which hopefully will be easier for me to write)!**


	3. Chapter 2

I do not own Harry Potter or Hetalia.

**CHAPTER 2: THE WAND CHOOSES THE NATION**

Canada's ears were ringing when they walked out of Gringotts half an hour later. America seemed to view the cart ride as some sort of roller coaster and had spent the entire time screaming with his hands in the air. Canada had just hugged Kumajiji and tried not to throw up. Pretty much every goblin in the place was glaring daggers at America, probably because of his loud chatter about how he wanted to go on the roller coaster again and how he never would have guessed Iggy had so much money hidden away. If they hadn't been surrounded by witnesses and America didn't look like a child, England probably would have started strangling him. As it was he seemed to be doing a breathing exercise to calm himself down.

They stepped out into the bright sunlight of Diagon Alley, the bustle of shopping wizards threatening to catch Canada and separate him from the other nations. Again. The others hadn't seemed to notice or care when he found his way back to them. Again.

England took a handful of coins out of his pouch and handed them to Canada and America. "Go to Ollivanders for wands first. That will most likely take a while, so I'll get everything else on the list except the robes."

America groaned. "Seriously? Do we _really _have to wear dresses? Do jeans suppress the flow of magic or something?"

England replied, "It's traditional, and wizards have a tradition of using something old even when they could upgrade to something better. Once you get your wands, meet me at the ice cream parlor." His expression softened ever so slightly. "I am slightly relaxing rule three, so feel free to get some ice cream." His face returned to its usual hardness. "But only one serving! And I mean one of _their_ servings, not one of _your_ servings, Alfred."

America grinned. "Sweet! Thanks, dude!" With that he grabbed Canada's arm and started dragging him in a random direction.

It took them longer than it should have to find Ollivanders, due to America not asking for directions and Canada having to ask several times in order to be heard when he did. They managed to find it with only one weird occurrence happening (Canada still wasn't sure where the squid had come from). Canada read the writing over the door. _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. _Canada gasped. This store was older than he was! The feeling was rather unsettling.

America, as always, didn't notice and charged straight in. "YO, WAND-DUDE! I WANT A WAND!" Canada sighed and slipped in before the door closed on him. It was a cramped space with a spindly chair and neat stacks of thousands of long, thin boxes.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Both Canada and America whirled around to see that an old man with wide, pale eyes had seemingly materialized out of thin air. He stared at America, seeming almost… perplexed. "I… do not believe I know who you are." This seemed to be a strange and unsettling experience for him.

America pointed his thumb towards his chest and said, "I'm the hero, Alfred Jones!" He jerked his thumb at Canada. "This is my bro, Matthew."

The old man, who Canada was guessing was Mr. Ollivander, turned to him and seemed surprised to see him there. "It's nice to meet you, eh," Canada whispered. He was more surprised at America introducing him than Mr. Ollivander's apparent lack of notice. He was used to people forgetting him.

Mr. Ollivander turned back to America. "I am pleased to meet you, Alfred Jones. Which is your wand arm?" What followed was several minutes of America getting measured in strange places by a magical measuring tape and Mr. Ollivander lecturing about wands while pulling boxes down from the shelves. Canada sat down on the spindly chair, resting his head on top of Kumacheerio's. He got the feeling this would take a while.

Finally, Mr. Ollivander said, "That will do." The tape measure fell to the floor and Mr. Ollivander took a wand out of a box, handing it to Alfred. "Try this one. Rosewood and dragon heartstring. Eight and a half inches. Give it a wave."

Alfred attempted to perform a dramatic, over-the-top wave, but had barely grabbed hold of the wand before Mr. Ollivander took it back and offered a new one. "Here, how about this one? Pine and unicorn hair. Twelve inches." America tried again, but this one was taken away as well. And so it went on, wand after wand failing to meet Mr. Ollivander's standards and being thrown onto Canada's lap.

Finally, just when the weight of discarded wands was becoming unbearable, America was handed a ten and a half inch oak and phoenix feather wand that emitted tiny red, white and blue fireworks when he waved it. Mr. Ollivander gave him a tiny round of applause. "Ah, yes, excellent! That will be seven Galleons, please."

America glanced at Canada, being crushed under a pile of his refused wands. "Yo, Matt still needs to get his, dude." Both Canada and Mr. Ollivander blinked in surprise. _Wow, America's being surprisingly… nice today, _thought Canada. _Why didn't I see that child, _thought Mr. Ollivander.

And so the process repeated itself, this time with America practicing how to wave his wand in a cool, awesome way while Canada got measured. He felt rather bad about how much of Mr. Ollivander's time he was taking up, and would have told him to just use America's measurements if the tape hadn't been measuring the space between his back molars at the time.

Just like America, it took a while for Canada to find the right wand. He apologized every time a wand didn't work for him. He really wasn't comfortable with having someone's attention for this long. He breathed a sigh of relief when an eight inch maple and unicorn hair wand released a puff of red and white smoke in the shape of a maple leaf. The brothers paid Mr. Ollivander fourteen Galleons and left.

The busy street came as a bit of a shock after the quiet of Ollivanders. America grabbed Canada's arm. "C'mon, dude, ICE CREAM!" And for once, Canada was just as excited as his brother. Though he refrained from chanting "I SCREAM, YOU SCREAM, WE ALL SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM!" the whole way there.

**A/N: First off, HUGS FOR EVERYONE! (^-^)(^-^) Also, I find Canada's POV much easier to write than America's, so don't be surprised if I don't write from the latter's perspective much. Also also, I'm going to Seattle for GeekGirlCon today! \(^o^)/ So don't be surprised if it takes me a little while to update. And if you're going there too, you should have a lot of fun! But please don't come and find me. I'm pretty shy in real life and would probably make a bit of polite chit-chat and run away as soon as possible. NEXT UPDATE: PLATFORM NINE AND THREE QUARTERS FROM AN AS OF YET UNDETERMINED POINT OF VIEW! See you all next time!**


	4. Chapter 3

I do not own Harry Potter or Hetalia.

**CHAPTER 3: The Journey From Platform Nine and Three Quarters**

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign over head said _Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock._ Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought iron archway where the ticket box had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Three Quarters _on it. He had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to each other in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his trolley off down the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, _Neville_," he heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Off to one side, Harry noticed a grumpy-looking man with some of the thickest eyebrows he'd ever seen saying to a blonde-haired boy with glasses, "You have no idea how lucky you are that nobody noticed."

The boy shrugged, grinning. "C'mon, dude, that was the absolute _perfect_ moment to pull a Leeroy." The boy had an American accent, which was a bit odd. Harry had been under the impression Hogwarts was for British students.

He was so distracted wondering about it that he didn't notice the other boy until he'd crashed into him, sending the luggage on both their trolleys tumbling to the ground. Hedwig let out a startled screech as her cage fell. "I'm sorry," Harry and the other boy said simultaneously.

Harry reached down to pick up Hedwig first and got a good look at the boy. At first he thought it was the boy who had apparently 'pulled a Leeroy', since he shared the same hair colour, glasses and facial features. But upon closer inspection there were definite differences. This boy's hair was longer and darker towards the ends, and his eyes were violet rather than blue. Perhaps the biggest difference of all was how he seemed to shrink in on himself and blend into the background.

Whoever he was, the boy was nice enough to start helping Harry with his luggage before starting on his own. "Thank you," said Harry once they were done.

The violet-eyed boy smiled. "You're welcome, eh," he said. He had a similar accent to the other boy, but it seemed slightly different. He started putting his own luggage back on his trolley, including…

Harry felt his eyes bulge. "Is that a bear?" he asked incredulously.

The boy looked up guiltily, patting the small white bear on the head. "Er… yes?" His luggage was righted, and he quickly said, "I'm sorry about crashing into you," and fled. Harry looked around, but he seemed to have vanished into thin air.

_I wonder what that was all about, _he thought to himself as he continued looking for an empty compartment.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest red-headed boy came in.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Harry saw he still had a black mark on his nose.

The door opened again, this time by the blonde boy with glasses who 'pulled a Leeroy'. "Yo, dudes!" he almost yelled. "You got any room in here?" Harry and the red-haired boy looked at each other. The American boy seemed very loud, and maybe not the best compartment-mate. The boy ignored them and yelled, "I'm taking that as a yes! Hey, Matt, there's room in here!"

The boy referred to as 'Matt' poked his head around the corner. "Hello," he almost whispered. Harry got the feeling he'd seen him before, but he couldn't quite put his finger on where.

The loud boy sat down next to Harry, holding out his hand. "The name's Alfred F. Jones, but you can just call me the hero!"

Harry deliberated internally for a moment before shaking his hand. "I'm Harry Potter," he said.

Alfred's eyes widened. "Yo, seriously? You're, like, super famous, dude! Is it true you punched out that Moldyshorts guy when you were a baby? That sounds awesome!" He turned to the red-haired boy. "Are you famous, too?"

He ducked his head and blushed furiously. "Er, no. My name's Ron Weasley."

"Ah, well. I guess we can't all be awesome as babies." Alfred held out his hand to Ron. "Nice to meet you, Ron!" Ron seemed a bit surprised, but he still shook Alfred's hand. The American grinned and turned his gaze to the seat opposite him. "Come on, bro! Introduce yourself!" He aimed a kick at the shins of the boy sitting beside Ron, who Harry could have sworn hadn't been there before.

The boy was too slow to react and let out a gasp of pain, massaging his wounded leg. His violet eyes flicked shyly between Harry and Ron. "I'm Matthew, Alfred's brother," he whispered. "It's nice to meet you, eh."

"Hey, Ron."

Ron's older brothers – the twins – were back. They introduced themselves as Fred and George, and neither seemed to mind when Alfred jumped up and started talking to them loud enough to make Harry's ears ring. After they left to see their friend's giant tarantula, Ron turned to Harry. "Have you really got – you know…" He pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry pulled back his fringe to show the lightning scar. Ron and Alfred both stared.

"So that's where You-Know-Who-?" asked Ron.

"Yes," said Harry. "But I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well-I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Wow," said Ron.

Alfred seemed to finally find his voice. "That…is…so…AWESOME!" He pushed back Harry's fringe, staring at the scar. "And it's shaped like a lightning bolt and everything! Dude, you have _no idea_ how cool this thing is! Does it glow in the dark? Can I get one?"

Harry pushed his hand away. "Would you please stop that? It's just a normal scar."

Alfred crossed his arms, pouting. "Fine. But let me know if it starts doing anything cool, you got that?"

Harry nodded. "I promise." At the time, he thought he'd never need to fulfill that promise. Apart from its shape, there really wasn't anything special about his scar. Searching for a way to change the subject, he asked Ron, "So, are all your family wizards?"

"Er- yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him." He looked at Alfred. "What about you, Alfred? Are your family wizards?"

Alfred scratched his head. "Well, to be honest… I don't really know. Our parents died when we were little, and I don't know any of our extended family. Since Matt's the only family I know of, I guess my family is all wizards!" He let out a laugh. A mixture of understanding and relief surged in Harry. So he wasn't the only one who didn't have any parents. Alfred continued, "Oh, and I guess Iggy's a wizard, too, but he never really told us about the whole magic thing."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Iggy?"

"Oh, that's just a nickname," explained Alfred. "His name's Arthur, but I always just call him Iggy. You know that space on a form that asks for the name of your emergency contact or guardian or whatever? Iggy's the guy whose name I put there. He takes care of us, I guess."

"You guess?" asked Ron.

Alfred shrugged. "Yeah. He's got what you'd call a hands-off parenting style. He's really busy, so we don't really see him that often." He yawned. "Okay, dudes, I'm bored of talking about Iggy. He's not that interesting. Your family sounds pretty cool, Ron. I bet you know lots about magic already."

Ron looked rather sheepish. "Not really. I'm kind of curious what living with Muggles must be like, though." The last sentence was aimed at Harry.

"It's horrible," said Harry. "Well, not for everyone, I suppose. Living with my aunt and uncle and cousin is, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."

"Five," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left- Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand and Percy's old rat."

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat grey rat, which was asleep.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff- I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.

Harry didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, he'd never had any money in his life until a month ago, and he told Ron so, all about having to wear Dudley's old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. Alfred opened his mouth a few times, as if he wanted to join in, but every time he seemed about to say something he shut his mouth again. Even so, Ron seemed to cheer up.

"… and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort-"

Ron gasped.

"What?" said Harry and Alfred simultaneously.

"_You said You-Know-Who's name!_" said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people-"

"I'm not trying to be _brave _or anything, saying the name," said Harry. "I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn… I bet," he added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying him a lot lately. "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

"You won't be," reassured Ron. "There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."

"Yeah, listen to him," said Alfred. "I had no idea magic was real either, but I'm gonna do my best to learn and become a hero! Plus, that whole 'You-Know-Who' thing seems really stupid, dude."

**A/N: This chapter was pretty long, wasn't it? I blame it on using passages from the book. Anyway, I've arrived in Seattle! Yay! It doesn't seem to have affected my writing at all, so yay for that too! :) Also, in answer to Anon007's question: No, I'm not planning on any romance between the nations. Sorry USUK fans. And before I forget, HUGS FOR EVERYONE! (^-^)(^-^) Next chapter: Meeting Draco Malfoy from America's point of view! (I'm trying to challenge myself. Don't be surprised if it's not very good.) Farewell, beautiful readers! \(^-^)**


	5. Chapter 4

Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.

**CHAPTER 4: BEARY BAD NEWS**

America was enjoying this whole 'wizard school' thing. He hadn't actually arrived yet, but the train ride at least was going great! He got to meet Harry Potter, the Boy Who Punched Out a Dark Lord, or whatever his title was, and another kid named Ron Weasley who seemed pretty nice. Canada was even joining in on the conversation every once in a while, startling their new friends every time. America had been leery about having to eat British food for lunch, but it turned out to be entirely made of candy, which was pure win. All in all, a great start to a new school year.

They also met a boy named Neville who was upset about losing his toad (America thought losing a toad was a good thing) and a girl named Hermione who was Muggle-born and waaaay too into the whole reading thing (America liked comics, but that was about it). Ron tried to turn his rat yellow, but it didn't work, which was sad. They found out Ron's older brothers worked at Romania's and Egypt's places. Also, someone apparently broke into that wizard bank and everyone was freaking out about a Dark wizard being on the loose. Then they started talking about Quidditch, which was a mixture of every sport known to Muggle man that was played on flying broomsticks. America immediately wanted to join a team, but apparently first years never made it.

He was still sulking when three other boys entered the compartment. One look at them was enough for America to categorize them as 'deserving the butt end of justice courtesy of heroes'. One was normal sized with pale skin, pale blonde hair, and pale grey eyes. The two flanking him were, to put it simply, _big_. Of course, America had no need to fear eleven year old boys of any size, but England's warnings about utilizing his full strength floated across his mind like a dark stormcloud.

The pale boy was staring at Harry. America felt rather miffed as he said, "Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harry. He was warily eyeing the two gorillas standing behind the pale boy like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. America didn't bother hiding his own snigger, and he even heard a faint sound that might have been a chuckle coming from Canada. _Draco Malfoy? That has got to be the stupidest name I've ever heard._

Draco Malfoy (hehe) looked at Ron. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford." He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." He held out his hand to shake Harry's. America was flabbergasted that such a pompous little jerkface would think anyone would want to be his friend after that display of assery.

Harry didn't take the proffered hand, much to America's satisfaction. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly. America gave him a thumbs up and a grin.

Draco Malfoy (hehe) didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you."

Okay, enough was enough. America, Harry and Ron all stood up. Ron's face in particular was as red as his hair. "Say that again," he said.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneered.

"Unless you get out now," said Harry. It didn't take a genius to see he wasn't feeling nearly as brave as his voice suggested. Canada was looking at them all with something akin to panic. He always hated fighting, America remembered. Ah, well. Beating the snot out of this kid was worth making his brother a bit worried.

Malfoy smirked in a way that made America want to punch him in the face and declared, "But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Canada. America leapt forward, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, he let out a horrible yell.

Kumajiro was hanging off Goyle's arm, sharp teech sunk deep into his forearm – Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Kumajiro round and round, howling, and when the bear finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they were freaked out by the bear that had appeared out of nowhere, or perhaps they'd heard footsteps, because a second later, Hermione Granger had come in.

"What _has _been going on?" she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Canada picking up Kumajiro off the floor. "Is that a bear?!"

Canada ignored her and, for once, it seemed that nobody was ignoring him. He stroked his pet's head, and the bear opened his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all gaped at the talking polar bear. Canada simply smiled and pulled Kumajiro in for a hug, whispering something into his fur. It was too quiet for America to make out the words, but from experience he guessed that it was something along the lines of "I'm Canada." He returned to seat and, apparently, his invisibility, because the others seemed to immediately forget about the talking polar bear.

"You've met Malfoy before?" Ron asked Harry. While Harry told the story of how he had met the snooty little twerp, America looked at Canada. He was stroking Kumajiro's fur, resting his chin on the top of the bear's head, and watching the conversation intently. _Well, at least he doesn't have to worry about getting in trouble about bringing a non-regulation pet._

**A/N: Okay, I kind of cheated by using passages from the book, but I still consider this a success. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! (^-^)(^-^) Also, oops, looks like I forgot to publish this yesterday. Ah, well, I'll just publish TWO chapters today! Next Chapter: The Sorting Ceremony from Canada's POV! Go look at it now. I'm posting it immediately. Seriously, go look at it.**


	6. Chapter 5

I do not own Harry Potter or Hetalia, J.K. Rowling and Hidekaz Himaruya do.

**CHAPTER 5: THE SORTING HAT**

Professor McGonagall left the chamber, leaving the first years to chatter amongst themselves about the Sorting Ceremony. Canada noticed that some of them, such as Harry and Ron, were trying to figure out how they would be sorted, while others were discussing which houses they thought they would be in. Though he didn't join in the conversation, Canada felt himself identifying more with the second group. What house would he fit in? England had given him and America a brief rundown of the houses at some point, but it hadn't been very specific. All he remembered was that Gryffindor was for the brave, Ravenclaw was for the clever, Slytherin was for the cunning, and Hufflepuff was for the loyal. There was no doubt in Canada's mind that America would end up in Gryffindor. He suspected that he himself would end up in Hufflepuff. That seemed to be the house everybody overlooked. He would fit in just fine.

Then something happened which made him hold up Kumajoji as a shield- several people screamed, but none as loud as America. "AAAAHHH OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD IT'S GHOSTS!" Then he ran behind Canada and clutched him like an environmental activist clung to a soon to be chopped down tree. Canada would have said something to reassure him, but it was kind of hard to breathe when your super-strong brother has a death grip on your abdomen.

He was right, though. There were indeed ghosts. About twenty of them had floated through a wall. Pearly white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to each other and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost- I say, what are you all doing here?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years. Nobody answered, and America had buried his face in Canada's shoulder, mumbling something unintelligible.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?" A few people nodded mutely. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall. "Now form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years. "And follow me."

America released Canada, returning to his usual self. He bounded over to the line, standing behind Ron. Canada followed, trying to catch his breath and feeling like his legs had turned to lead. Why was he being so nervous? He was a nation! Seven years was barely a footnote in the story of his life. And yet he was still panicky enough that he could barely take in the appearance of the Great Hall. All he managed to internalize were the hundreds of eyes focused on the line of first years. Suddenly he was starting to regret bringing Kumachino. What if someone noticed and he got in trouble? Oh, who was he kidding. Nobody was going to notice him.

Canada tried to focus on Professor McGonagall silently placing a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. The hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty, but Canada still felt rather intimidated by it. Why couldn't they have used a toque instead? He liked toques.

He noticed that everyone in the hall seemed to be staring at the hat. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth- and the hat began to sing:

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
>But don't judge on what you see,<br>I'll eat myself if you can find  
>A smarter hat than me.<br>You can keep your bowlers black,  
>Your top hats sleek and tall,<br>For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
>And I can cap them all.<br>There's nothing hidden in your head  
>The Sorting Hat can't see,<br>So try me on and I will tell you  
>Where you ought to be.<br>You might belong in Gryffindor,  
>Where dwell the brave at heart,<br>Their daring, nerve and chivalry  
>Set Gryffindors apart;<br>You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
>Where they are just and loyal,<br>Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
>And unafraid of toil;<br>Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
>If you've a ready mind,<br>Where those of wit and learning,  
>Will always find their kind;<br>Or perhaps in Slytherin  
>You'll make your real friends,<br>Those cunning folk use any means  
>To achieve their ends.<br>So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
>And don't get in a flap!<br>You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
>For I'm a Thinking Cap!"<em>

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again. Oh, maple. This wasn't going to be good. If this hat could read minds, there was no way it wouldn't notice what Canada and America were. What if it got so freaked out it stopped working, and the entire ceremony was ruined? How would England react if they came back barely a day after leaving? Canada had just started looking forward to the year.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!" And so the Sorting had begun.

Canada was having an internal panic attack while the others began getting sorted into their houses. America as fine, of course. He was rolling on the balls of his feet, vibrating with anticipation. They seemed to be doing it alphabetically, so America would go before he did. So at least if the Sorting Hat couldn't handle a nation's head, it wouldn't be Canada who broke it.

He was still freaking out when Professor McGonagall called out, "Jones, Alfred!" America gave Canada a thumbs up and bounded over to the stool, ramming the hat over his head. Canada was starting to feel a bit woozy. Would he still be sorted if he fainted?

Thirty seconds of Canada taking deep breaths later, the Sorting Hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" Canada let out a sigh of relief as America took off the hat and ran towards the Gryffindor table, cheering with his arms held up in a V for victory.

Then Professor McGonagall called out, "Jones, Matthew!" Canada put down Kumajiori (he didn't want to take any chances, and the bear could find him at his table) and walked up to the stool. He heard a few confused mutters of, "Didn't he just get sorted?" coming from the tables. After what felt like an eternity he arrived at the stool. He sat down and, with shaking hands, put the hat over his head. It fell over his eyes, making his world dark.

"Ah, just like your brother," said a small voice in his ear. "Another nation. Fascinating. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Now where to put you… quite a bit of bravery, a good mind, plenty of loyalty… and a surprising amount of cunning. Well, well, well. I didn't think you had it in you. More resentment than one would expect, too. You're sick of being overshadowed by your brother, and with good reason. Slytherin would be a good fit…"

Canada gulped. From all he'd heard, Slytherin was the 'bad' house. Unlike a lot of nations, Canada hadn't dealt with too much bullying. His only neighbor was his brother, and there'd been some fighting, but with England's help he'd always been able to stand up for himself. He didn't want to have to deal with a whole house full of bullies.

The hat seemed to pick up on his thoughts. "No, I see now that your natural kindness would chafe against your fellows in Slytherin. Perhaps Gryffindor? But no, you want to stand on your own, apart from your brother. Better be HUFFLEPUFF!" The last word was shouted out to the entire Great Hall. Canada took off the hat and walked over to the Hufflepuff table, legs still shaky. There was cheering, but judging from the reactions to previous sortings, this was just polite applause. He sat down next to the Fat Friar, who didn't notice him. Something nudged him from under the table and he scooped up Kumajedi into his lap. His new house had already lost interest in him, focusing on the next first year getting sorted.

Canada caught a glimpse of his brother sitting at the Gryffindor table, and to his surprise America was looking back at him. He was looking almost… upset? Then he looked back to the Sorting Hat and Canada put it down to wishful thinking.

**A/N: I already did hugs in the last chapter, so just look at those again. I feel pretty good about this chapter :). Oh, and I'm back home from Seattle. GeekGirlCon was pretty fun. Next Time: The first day of classes from Harry's POV. Hopefully I'll see you all then! \(^-^)**


	7. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6: FIRST WEEK**

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Which one?"

"The black-haired one."

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left the dormitory next day. People queuing outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, partly because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes and partly because Alfred got even louder than usual when he noticed he wasn't the center of attention.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. And whenever Alfred saw one he'd scream and run off, only to later claim he had been 'advancing in the opposite direction'. Harry could understand his behaviour when it was the Bloody Baron or Peeves the Poltergeist, who was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. But it was a bit ridiculous when he ran screaming from ghosts like Nearly Headless Nick, who was always willing to give directions.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the lessons themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words. They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movement of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learnt how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring lesson was History of Magic, which was the only class taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. Oddly enough, Alfred seemed to have no trouble with the class, despite his miniscule attention span. Harry wondered whether he'd been doing some extra reading, but then remembered that it was Alfred and gave up.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defence against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went. Alfred was particularly put out about the lackluster class, constantly complaining about how Quirrell had managed to ruin the 'class for being heroes'.

Friday was an important day for Harry, Ron and Alfred. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once. Alfred went over to the Hufflepuff table to brag about this achievement to his brother.

"What have we got today?" Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he favours them- we'll be able to see if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall favoured us," said Harry. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her giving them a huge pile of homework the day before.

Alfred sat down next to them and reluctantly started ladling porridge into his bowl. For whatever reason, he always treated the food at Hogwarts as if it would bite him back. When Harry had asked for his reasons, the American had said something about having bad experiences with British food. He seemed to have gotten over it, but he still nervously eyed any new dish.

Just then, the post arrived. Harry had got used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners and dropping letters and packages on to their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note on to Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once.

_Dear Harry, _it said, in a very untidy scrawl.

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_ Hagrid_

Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled _Yes, please, see you later _on the back of the note and sent Hedwig off again.

**A/N: (^-^)(^-^) hugs. Pretty short chapter this time, I know. Hopefully the next one will be longer. Next Time: The first potions class from America's POV. See you then! :)**


	8. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7: THE POTIONS MASTER**

America hadn't been sure what to expect in Potions. On the one hand, Potions was basically chemistry, and chemistry made explosions, and explosions were awesome, so Potions should be awesome, right? On the other hand, it was being taught by that creepy Professor Snape, who despite being the school Potions Master had clearly never seen a bottle of shampoo in his life. At the very least, the classroom would probably be stinky.

As he walked into the class with Harry and Ron, America realized that classroom wasn't the right word. Dungeon, lair, and laboratory were all much more suitable. It was deep in the bowels of the castle, colder than it had any right to be, and there were what looked like pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. It reminded him of that room in England's basement where he threw those weird costume parties. Where the dress code was black robes. And… hadn't there been a cauldron? And weird chalk markings on the floor… hmm…

He was drawn out of this disturbing train of thought by the sound of Professor Snape taking attendance. God, even his _voice _seemed slimy. And he gave America a weird look when he responded to his name being called with a cheerful, "YO, DUDE, I'M TOTALLY RIGHT HERE!" It wasn't even as if he'd been all that loud. British people were way too quiet, which was surprising considering how loud their personification could yell.

Snape paused when he reached Harry's name. "Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new- _celebrity._' America scowled. Why was it everyone was making such a huge deal about Harry and not paying attention to _him_? He was much more famous than Harry- or, he would be, if people knew exactly who and what he was. More than that, he didn't appreciate the way Snape said 'celebrity', and the Three Stooges, as he called the trio of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, sniggering behind their hands didn't help. If England hadn't been so scary about not getting into trouble, America would have run over and punched every last one of them in the face.

Snape finished calling names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black, cold and empty. They reminded America of old mining tunnels- dark, and fraught with danger for those who ventured forth. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape began. He spoke at a similar volume to Canada, but unlike with Canada they all caught every word. Much like Germany, but with less yelling, Snape had the gift of keeping a room silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows while America pouted. In that entire speech, there hadn't been a single mention of explosions. That Hermione chick was on the edge of her seat and looking desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

_Add the what to the what? _Harry glanced at Ron and America. Clearly he didn't know the answer, and neither did Ron. It didn't sound like the ingredients of an explosive, so America didn't know either. Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut- fame clearly isn't everything." He ignored Hermione's hand. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

_A bee's oar? Do bees canoe?_ Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat. The Three Stooges were shaking with laughter at Harry's apparent status as a dunderhead.

"I don't know, sir," Harry repeated.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand, and America restrained the urge to punch him. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

_Okay, seriously, what the f***? _ At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching towards the dungeon ceiling. "I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?" A few people laughed. Harry caught America's eye and he gave him a grin and a thumbs up. The kid had said the exact thing America had been thinking. Snape, however, was not nearly so pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter." America grumbled a swearword that hadn't been in popular use for over a century. He copied down the notes, but he also drew Snape being carried away by a giant eagle to vent his frustration.

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. America ended up with Neville Longbottom, who was something of a walking disaster area. Then again, England had often said the same thing about America himself, so in some way it was probably a good match. Snape swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticising almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when Neville screwed up. America had been distracted glowering at Snape and Malfoy and didn't know exactly what Neville did, but clouds of green acid smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt America's cauldron into a twisted blob and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class were standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at America.

America saluted mockingly. "Yes, sir! As the resident hero, it's my duty to help the helpless!" He grabbed Neville by the shoulder and practically dragged him out of the dungeon. He could hear shouting from the classroom as he and Neville walked through the corridor. Snape was probably taking points away from Gryffindor.

The two of them had reached the main floor when America paused, taking in his surroundings. He looked at Neville. "Yo, dude, you got any idea which way to the hospital wing?"

Neville pointed in the correct direction and let out a whimper of pain upon getting another good look at the boils covering his arm.

America patted him on the shoulder and said brightly, "Don't worry, dude, we'll get you fixed up in no time. That's what magic's for, right?"

Neville looked at him with huge, worried eyes. "I'm sorry about melting your cauldron," he murmured. For a moment America was reminded uncannily of Canada- the quiet voice, the apologizing, the shy look in his eyes…

America smiled at him. "Nah, don't worry about it. I've seen how much money Iggy's got. He can probably afford a million new cauldrons." Neville still didn't look reassured, so the nation put an arm around his shoulders. "C'mon, you'll feel way better when those boils are gone. Let's go!"

**A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! (^-^)(^-^) I think I'm getting better at America's POV! I feel pretty good about this chapter. I had no idea it was going to happen, but I guess America and Neville are going to be friends. I guess that's what happens when you're making things up as you go along. I have absolutely no plan or outline for this fic :P. NEXT CHAPTER: Visiting Hagrid (and possibly more) from Canada's POV. See all you beautiful people next time!**


	9. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8: TEA WITH HAGRID**

Canada turned to the next page of _Hogwarts, A History. _Kumajinji was curled up next to his chair, taking a nap. The library was quiet, the only noises being the scribble of quills on parchment, the rustle of pages being turned, and the footsteps of Madame Pince as she stalked through the shelves, constantly vigilant against any disturbance to the peace of the library. Canada spent a lot of time in here. He didn't really like being in the Hufflepuff common room, since it was often loud and people tended to sit on him. In the library, being quiet was actively encouraged.

To be honest, Canada wasn't really enjoying life at Hogwarts. He hadn't made any friends, the professors never noticed him, and the maple syrup was sub-par. He liked the actual magic part, and by comparing himself to his classmates he'd determined that he would be the top of his class if the teachers had ever noticed. Well, that was a bit unfair. Sometimes the teachers _did _notice him. It was just that they usually mistook him for his brother and yelled at him for something he didn't do.

Speaking of America, Canada heard a loud stomping that could only belong to his brother. Sure enough, a few moments later the blue-eyed nation poked his head around the corner of a shelf. "Yo, what's up, Matt?" he called out. Canada and a patrolling Madame Pince both shushed him. America rolled his eyes, but he was somewhat quieter as he sat across from Canada and said, "Dude, you got a pen and paper? I need to write a letter to Iggy."

Canada slipped a bookmark into his book and closed it. "We use quills and parchment, remember," he whispered. "And why do you need to write to Arthur, eh?"

America waved his arm theatrically. "My cauldron got melted in Potions, so I need to ask for a new one."

Canada sighed. "What did you do?"

America replied, hurt, "I didn't do anything! The kid I was working with added porcupine quills too early or something. So, do you have the stuff or not?"

Canada pulled a quill and a roll of parchment from his bag. "Here. Let me write something after you're done, eh?"

America grabbed the supplies. "Sure, sure, totally." He started writing, whistling to himself. Canada looked around for Madame Pince, but she seemed to have gone to some other corner of the library. After a few minutes, America sat up straight and pushed the letter to Canada. "Done! Have at it, dude." Canada read what America had written.

_Sup, Iggy? Hogwarts is pretty lame so far. Hero class is taught by a total loser, history is all stuff I already know, and potions has nothing to do with explosions. The food isn't as bad as I thought it might be. You should probably get some advice from Scot about cooking. And there are ghosts all over the place, which is SCARY. Why didn't you tell me there'd be so many? You suck. The only thing I really like so far is the other kids. I'm now friends with Harry Potter, you know, that totally badass baby who took down Moldyshorts? I got sorted into Gryffindor, which is AWESOME because that's the house of heroes! Matthew was put into Hufflepuff, which is kind of a bummer. And also I need a new cauldron because my last one melted, but I SWEAR IT WASN'T ME WHO DID IT, IT WAS THE GUY I WAS PAIRED WITH! Oh, and Matt wants to write something._

_ Alfred._

Well, at least he hadn't started right off the bat with asking for the new cauldron. Canada dipped the quill in ink and began writing.

_Hi, Arthur. I'm sorry about Alfred. I think he's telling the truth about not being the one who melted his cauldron, so don't be too mad at him. Hogwarts is okay. Learning magic is fun and I'm doing well academically, but I don't think anyone apart from Alfred realizes I'm here. I'm running a bit low on treats for Kuma, so could you please send some seal blubber with the cauldron? Tell everyone I said hello. I miss you guys._

_ Matthew._

Canada looked over the letter for spelling mistakes, found none, and handed it back to America. "There. Done."

America grinned. "Thanks, bro! You're a lifesaver!" He stood up and ran off.

Canada sighed and opened his book again, but he couldn't concentrate. Writing that letter had made him realize how homesick he was. He missed playing hockey, and canoeing, and Tim Hortons, and good maple syrup, but most of all he missed his friends. He didn't have that many, to be honest. Most of the other nations didn't notice him or mistook him for America, and he spent the most time with his brother, but he'd managed to make a few friends.

His best friend was Cuba, who still sometimes mistook him for America but always apologized for it and gave him ice cream. France had been his big brother before England took over, and the two were still close, though France always winced at Canada's accent whenever they spoke French. Netherlands was a good friend, too, sending ten thousand tulips to him every year since World War II and sometimes partaking in some of Canada's guilty pleasures. Prussia was pretty nice and always seemed to recognize Canada, though he was mostly just interested in maple syrup. Russia was always up for some hockey, but he wasn't exactly what Canada would call a friend. Canada liked his sister Ukraine much better, with her warm personality and huge… um… tracts of land. He really wished that she would fully separate herself from Russia.

Thinking of his friends made Canada sigh again. He got the feeling that it would be a long three and a half months before Christmas break, when he would return home and see them again. He closed the book again and returned it to the shelf. He couldn't concentrate. Maybe he'd return to the dormitory and take a nap. He was preparing to leave when America poked his head back around the shelf. "You know," he said. "I'm heading over to Hagrid's place with some friends in a bit. Wanna come?"

Canada got over his shock fairly quickly and smiled. "Sure. I'll see you there, eh."

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

Canada was feeling much happier than he should as Harry went to knock. Maybe now he could make some friends here! He remembered meeting Harry and Ron on the train, and they'd seemed very nice. America had had to reintroduce him, but that happened with most people, so Canada didn't take it personally. When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Kumajumanji growled, ears flattening. Canada picked him up and stroked him, whispering soothing words into his ear. Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "_Back_, Fang – _back._" His big hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open. "Hang on. _Back_, Fang." He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it. Canada was reminded a bit of the houses trappers would build back in his childhood- it was the kind of house occupied by someone who spent most of their time outside.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked. Kuma reached the same conclusion as his master and calmed down. Canada dropped him to the ground, where he started sniffing at the animals hung from the ceiling.

"This is Ron, Alfred and… Matthew," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes on to a plate. Canada felt a bit warm and fuzzy that Harry had managed to remember his name, and also rather worried about eating the rock cakes. They seemed to resemble England's scones.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest." He looked at Canada and America. "Nice ter meet you two, as well. Hope yer not as troublesome as those other twins." Canada smiled politely while America gave a grin and a shrug that seemed to scream, 'We'll see about that'.

The rock cakes almost broke their teeth, but Canada, Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them (America refused to touch them at all) as the Gryffindors told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang and Kumajojo sniffed each other. Fang seemed to like the little polar bear, because he gave his face a huge lick. The polar bear must have liked him back, because he simply let him.

They were all delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch 'that old git'. "And as for that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang some time. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her- Filch puts her up to it." Canada didn't like Filch. He always mistook him for America and yelled at him about causing a disturbance in the halls.

Harry told Hagrid about his first lesson with Snape. Canada received confirmation that America had not in fact been the one to melt his cauldron, and wasn't surprised to hear how he'd blamed Harry for it. He'd been unpleasant in the Hufflepuff class, too, floating around like a bat and making Canada nearly drop a glass phial from nervousness. He nodded in agreement when Hagrid told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really _hate _me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?" Yet Canada couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet Harry's eyes when he said that. "How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot- great with animals."

Canada got the feeling Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, and America told the story of how he'd made friends with a whale (the others didn't believe him), Canada noticed Harry pick up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cosy. It was a cutting from the _Daily Prophet. _Canada read over his shoulder. It was something about a break-in at Gringotts. Whoever had done something like that must have been either very brave or very stupid. Those goblins had been scary.

"Hagrid!" said Harry. "That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

America's eyes widened. "Dude, are you serious? That is so cool!" Hagrid, meanwhile, definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. The rest of the visit was spent with America asking for details, and when Hagrid refused to give him any, coming up with some of his own. When the four of them walked back to the castle for dinner, Canada, Harry and Ron's pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, America was insisting that dragons, explosions and robots were all heavily involved. Canada noticed that Harry was deep in thought, and wondered what exactly he was thinking.

Canada was just glad that he seemed to making some new friends after all.

**A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! (^-^)(^-^) Poor, ignored Canada T_T. For the information about his friends, I basically just looked at the pairings for him on the Hetalia wiki. Don't worry, Canada, you'll make some friends at Hogwarts relatively soon! Also, to answer the question a guest had a bout America being self-centered: I dunno, my impression of America's character is that he will be silly and immature in all but the most dire situations, but once things get serious so will he. And we all know the later books have plenty of seriousness, so if I go beyond the first book with this fic we'll probably get quite a bit of Serious!America. NEXT CHAPTER: Preparing for flying lessons from Harry's POV. See you all next time! (^-^)/**


	10. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9: THE MORNING POST**

Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy. Still, first year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn`t have to put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn`t until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common-room which made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday – and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy." He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.

"You don't know you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch team and told long, boastful stories which always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang-glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. There had already been a big three-way argument between Ron, Alfred and Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about football. Alfred and Dean had argued over whether English football (or as Alfred called it, 'soccer') was better than American football (or as Dean called it, 'a huge waste of time'), while Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of West Ham football team, trying to make the players move.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book – not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd got out of a library book called _Quidditch through the Ages_. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the post.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

Three owls dropped a vaguely cauldron-looking package and letter in front of Alfred. Neville, who had also received a package from his grandmother, looked relieved. "I'm sorry about what happened to the last one," he said for the hundredth time.

Alfred waved an arm dismissively, reading the letter. Once he had finished he started laughing. "Oh, man, looks like Iggy's the same as ever." He handed the letter over to Harry to read.

_Alfred, what did I tell you about using that ridiculous nickname? And my cooking is hardly so bad that I have to ask my idiot brother for advice! Why do you always insist on insulting my food? Speaking of insulting, it's hardly my fault you have this bizarre fear of even the most conspicuous of ghosts. It's been a while since I've been to Hogwarts, but you should definitely try talking with the Bloody Baron. He's very friendly._

_ It's good to hear you're making friends (it's Voldemort, by the way, not Moldyshorts, you buffoon). As for classes, I'm sorry to hear that you aren't enjoying 'hero class'. Truly, I am sobbing as I write this letter. That was sarcasm, by the way. I really don't care about your enjoyment of Defence Against the Dark Arts. It's difficult to convey tone through letter, so I want to make sure you understand my feelings. Were you honestly expecting to be making explosives in Potions? Contrary to what your movies seem to believe, not everything ends in explosions._

_ Here is your cauldron. Matthew says you weren't the one who melted the last one, but I'm sure you're still at least partly to blame. I had this one custom made to be more durable, so if you destroy it I'm sending a Howler._

_ Hoping you don't contact me again until Christmas,_

_Arthur._

Harry glanced at Alfred, who was unwrapping his new cauldron. He wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to react to this. "This Arthur is your guardian, right?" he eventually settled for.

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, I guess. He's not exactly what you call the nurturing type."

Harry glanced down at the passage where Arthur encouraged his ward with a fear of ghosts to talk to a terrifying, blood-stained apparition. "Yes, I can see that."

Neville, in the meantime, had opened his package excitedly and began showing them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke. "It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh…" His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "… you've forgotten something…"

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand. Harry, Ron and Alfred jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash. "What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table. "Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

**A/N: HUGS! (^-^)(^-^) And a high-five for fictionhunter, whose reviews always make me smile! (^-^)/\(^-^) You rock, fictionhunter! As for the inevitable Howler scene... we'll see when it happens :). NEXT CHAPTER: Flying lessons from America's POV! See you all next time!**


	11. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10: FLYING LESSONS**

At three-thirty that afternoon, America, Harry, Ron and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps into the grounds for their first flying lesson. America was practically bouncing with excitement. Flying had always been one of his dreams. The closest he'd ever come to proper flight was hang-gliding, and that particular incident hadn't ended well. He'd been in plenty of planes, but you were always contained in some way. Broomsticks seemed like a pretty lame way to fly, but it was still flight, and he was looking forward to it. Though if England asked, the whole broomstick thing ruined it.

Those slimy Slytherins, Three Stooges included, were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Maybe America could 'accidentally' crash into Draco Malfoy (which was still an unbelievably stupid name). Then again, considering his experience, there was a good chance he would legitimately crash into someone. He'd heard the school brooms weren't very good.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair and yellow eyes like a hawk. "Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up." America glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. Even the pioneers who had first settled his land wouldn't have swept with it. "Stick your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front. "And say, 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted. A few people gave America weird looks. What? It wasn't his fault British people didn't shout loud enough! Or maybe they had just noticed that his broom was one of the few to jump into his hand at once. Harry's had, as well, while Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground and Neville's hadn't moved at all. _Maybe they didn't yell loud enough for the brooms to hear them, _thought America. Neville's voice was quavering so much that he had to admit that if he had been the broom, he probably would have stayed on the ground as well.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. America, Harry and Ron were delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three –two –" But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips. "Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet.

America dropped his broom and ran towards where Neville was obviously about to fall. "DON'T WORRY, NEVILLE, I'LL SAVE YOU!" he shouted. Unfortunately, he was so busy looking up at Neville that he didn't notice the stupid rock that had obviously just materialized on the ground, and tripped. Before he got the chance to get up he felt something land on his back. There was a nasty cracking sound, and for a moment America worried that it had come from his ribs before remembering that he was a _nation_, and a global superpower at that. It would take a lot more than an impact like that to even put a dent in him. He heard pained whimpering from whatever had landed on him. _Wait a second… I recognize that whimpering…_

Someone lifted the weight off of him and America jumped to his feet to see Madam Hooch bending over Neville, her face as white as his. "Broken wrist," she muttered. She looked at America, obviously surprised to see him standing. "Sit down, you must be hurt as well."

America shrugged. "Dude, I'm feeling great! Let's start flying!"

Madam Hooch gave him a bemused look and said, "No. There's no way you're flying after that." She turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take these boys to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him, while America followed. He glanced back at the class. There seemed to be an argument happening between the Gryffindors and Slytherins. _Here's hoping Malfoy gets punched in the face, _he thought to himself.

When they arrived at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey sighed at the sight of them. "You two again? What happened?" She directed the latter question to Madam Hooch.

"This one took off too early and fell off his broom," she explained, jerking her head towards Neville. "He seems to only have a broken wrist. That one –" she gestured to America. "- is the one he landed on. He claims to be fine, and he managed to walk here without help."

"Dudes, I'm fine!" America repeated. "Let's go back and do some flying!" Neither witch believed him, however. He ended up lying down in a bed next to Neville while he got his wrist healed. It was a simple fix; Madam Pomfrey cast a spell and gave him a potion, and within a few minutes his wrist was good as new. Then, despite his protests that he was in perfect health, the matron insisted on giving him a thorough examination. She seemed determined to believe that he was injured and trying to put on a brave face.

Eventually she stepped back and said, "I can't seem to find anything wrong, but I'm still going to give you a potion in case there's something I missed, and I'll need you both to stay here for the afternoon." She gave America an almost fluorescent blue potion and left.

America gulped down the potion (it tasted like pennies) and felt warmth suffuse him. It still wasn't enough to improve his mood. "Aw, man, this totally sucks," he complained, lying back on his bed.

In the next bed, Neville was looking guilty. "I'm really, really, really sorry about this," he said.

America waved his hand dismissively. "I don't blame you, dude. I blame that stupid rock for tripping me." That was the start of a long rant about the stupidity of rocks, how they constantly seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and how it was the fault of rocks that they were so easy to trip upon. Neville remained silent, occasionally nodding and giving small affirmative noises.

Spending an afternoon in the hospital wing, America quickly found out, was very boring. He spent most of the time having mostly one-sided conversations with Neville, interspersed with games of I Spy and visits from Madam Pomfrey to make sure America hadn't suddenly gained the broken ribs he should have received from his adventure as a landing pad. So when Canada came in several hours later, he was warmly welcomed.

"Yo, bro, what's up?" America called out, waving.

Canada approached the two Gryffindors. "I heard about what happened, eh. Are you two okay?"

"Yeah, but the nurse seems convinced I must be injured or something. Oh, wait, I should probably introduce you guys. Neville, this is my brother Matthew. Matt, this is Neville."

Canada's eyes widened in recognition. "Oh, weren't you the one who melted Alfred's cauldron?" Neville ducked his head in embarrassment, prompting Canada to say, "I'm sorry. That just came out. It's nice to meet you, Neville." He deposited two plates of food on the table between their beds. "I saved some dinner for you two. I thought you might be hungry."

Neville muttered something like a 'thank you' as America grabbed the plate nearest him and began shoving food into his mouth. As he ate, he said, "Thanks, dude! I would _so _be giving you a hug right now if I could get out of this bed without the nurse blowing a cap in my-"

"Please don't talk with your mouth full, eh," interrupted Canada. "It makes you hard to understand."

America rolled his eyes, but he didn't speak as he continued eating. Canada's arrival was just about the only interesting thing that had happened all afternoon, so he didn't want to piss him off and make him leave. While he ate in silence, Canada said, "It's too bad you two had to miss your first flying lesson. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had our lesson a few days ago, and it was really fun. Not as exciting as your class, but we were all able to levitate a bit."

"I-it wasn't that exciting," said Neville, speaking for the first time since Canada arrived. "I just fell off my broom and Alfred broke my fall."

"Wait, you two didn't hear?"

America swallowed and said, "Hear what, dude? Did something happen after we left?"

Canada sat down on the edge of America's bed. "I wasn't there, I overheard Parvati Patil telling her sister about it, so it may not be entirely accurate, eh. But the way I heard it…" And then he told the story of how Harry did something totally awesome without America around.

America was furious by the time his brother finished the story. "HOW COULD HE DO SOMETHING THAT AWESOME WITHOUT ME AROUND TO WITNESS IT?" he roared. "HE KNOWS THAT I'M THE HERO! I TOTALLY WOULD HAVE PUNCHED MALFOY IN THE FACE FOR HIM! HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME? I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!" Neville flinched away from the sudden outburst, but Canada merely chuckled. America glared at him. "WHAT'S SO FUNNY?"

Canada replied, "It's just… you're channeling Arthur right now."

That deflated America quickly. He laughed as well. "Dude, seriously? Wow. I'd better make sure not to start making horrible food." Canada's laugh gained a strange tinge to it.

Neville, meanwhile, reached a realization. "Oh, no, where's my Remembrall now?"

Canada shrugged. "I guess Harry still has it? I'm not sure. You should ask him when you see him again, eh." He checked his watch and sighed. "I should probably go. I want to send a letter before I go to bed. I'll see you guys tomorrow." And with that he left.

Madam Pomfrey let them out soon afterwards, thankfully. For whatever reason, she wasn't very pleased when Alfred ran out yelling, "FREEEDOOOOM!"

**A/N: HUGS! (^-^)(^-^) I had to rewrite about half of this chapter when I realized I'd made an error regarding Neville's whereabouts. Ah, well. I think it's better this way. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada sends a letter and gets caught up in some rulebreaking. See you all next time!**


	12. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11: THE MIDNIGHT DUEL**

Canada sat on the floor of the dark owlery, a sleeping Kumachurro curled up next to him. On his other side was a lantern, illuminating the two letters the nation held. The one he was currently inspecting was the one England had sent him that morning with a container of seal blubber.

_Matthew, there's no need to apologize so much. Not everything Alfred does is your fault. I'm pleased to hear you're enjoying classes. Magic is quite fascinating to learn, isn't it? Perhaps you could share some of your enthusiasm and knowledge with your brother. I mean, really, he expected to be making explosives in Potions. Granted, there are some potions that _can _be used to make things explode, but you're not going to learn about those in the first year._

_ As for not being noticed, I'm afraid I don't have any new advice. Perhaps try to speak up more, and louder? To be honest, Matthew, you're more quiet and unobtrusive than is good for you. I can hardly believe I am writing this, but perhaps taking a page from Alfred's book might be good for you. If you allow him to read that sentence, I will kill you both._

_ I wasn't sure what kind of seal blubber would be best, so this is what the clerk at the shop suggested. If it's not the right kind, send it back and I'll see about getting some more. I'll see you at Christmas._

_ Arthur._

_ P.S. Everyone says hello, and that we miss you, too._

Canada smiled at the post-script. He wasn't sure whether England had made it up or not, but either way at least someone cared. And while the seal blubber hadn't been the brand he usually bought, Kumajury was still happy to eat it. Seal blubber was seal blubber, he supposed. He looked over the other letter, the one he was about to send to England.

_Arthur, thank you for the seal blubber. It's not the kind I usually get, but Kuma seems to like it. I tried to be more noticeable today, and Professor McGonagall actually picked me to answer a question, and when I got it right she gave Hufflepuff five points! And in the common room I was only sat on once. And when I went to see Alfred in the hospital wing, the other kid there seemed to notice me, too._

_ Oh, yeah, Alfred got sent to the hospital wing today. The Gryffindors and Slytherins had their first flying lesson today (I had mine a few days ago, and it was really fun). They didn't really do any flying, though, because Neville (he's the one who melted Alfred's cauldron) took off too early and fell off his broom. He wasn't too badly hurt, though, because Alfred broke his fall. He was fine, of course, but Madam Hooch still sent them both to the hospital wing. They seemed confused about Alfred not being hurt, but not enough to raise any suspicions, I think. Mostly he was just upset about not being around when Harry Potter got into a fight with a Slytherin named Draco Malfoy (I'm sure his parents must have had a good reason for naming him that). It's funny how much he reminds me of you when he's yelling about betrayal._

_ I still haven't really made any friends yet, but I'm sure it'll happen soon. I'll write to you again when something interesting happens._

_ Matthew._

_ P.S. Please send me some of my maple syrup. I forgot to pack it, and breakfast just isn't the same without it._

He couldn't see any spelling mistakes, so he stood up, put out his arm, and gave a low whistle. He had to give a few more whistles before a barn owl noticed and flew down to him, perching on his outstretched arm. Canada folded up the letter and gave it to the bird. "Please take this to Arthur Kirkland. He should be in London, eh." The bird nodded at him, acknowledging his request, and took off into the night. Canada watched it for a while, amazed by how quietly owls could fly. Huh. The moon shouldn't be in that position this early, should it? He checked his watch and nearly jumped. Oh, maple! He'd spent more time in the owlery than he'd thought. A lot more time. If Filch caught him out of bed at this hour, he'd… well, he'd probably just give him detention and rant about the good old days when school punishments violated the Geneva Convention.

He picked up his lantern, realized it would be a dead giveaway, and blew it out. A muffled sound came from Kumajojo as the little polar bear got up. "Who are you?" he asked.

Canada patted him on the head. "I'm Matthew," he said. "We aren't supposed to be here, so we need to be quiet. You know the way to the common room, eh?"

"Yes," whispered the bear. Well, as much as a bear is capable of whispering. The bear set off, with his master following behind him.

It was a wild, meandering path they took, and after a while Canada began to suspect that his pet had lied to him. It was too dark for him to be sure, but he was pretty sure they'd gotten lost. Every time they turned a corner he feared that they'd be found by Filch, but luckily they didn't run into him.

Canada was considering grabbing Kumajingo and finding his way back to the common room on his own when he bumped into someone. "Sorry," he said, an automatic response. It took a moment for him to realize that bumping into someone right now was in no way a good thing, but by the time he realized it might be a good idea to run away it was too late.

"Alfred?" asked Harry, looking surprised and relieved. "What are you doing here? I thought you were asleep."

"I'm not Alfred, I'm Matthew," said Canada. He looked at the small party in front of him. There was Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom. Harry seemed the calmest, probably relieved not to have run into Filch, Ron was looking rather fearful, Neville even more so, and Hermione looked frustrated.

"What are you doing out of bed this late?" she demanded. "You didn't seem the type to break the rules."

"I'm sorry," Canada repeated. "I was sending a letter and I lost track of time, and now I can't seem to find my way back to my common room, eh."

The small group of Gryffindors glanced at each other, and Canada sensed an exchange of information happening between them. After a few moments Harry said, "We don't know where the Hufflepuff common room is, so I suppose you should probably come with us."

Canada blinked. _Is he thinking of safety in numbers? I don't think that's a good thing in this situation, but it's not like I've got anything better to do. _"All right," he said. "But why-" The Gryffindors started walking again before he could finish his question. He sighed and noticed Kumajory giving him a concerned look. He picked up the little bear and started following Harry.

As they walked, Canada found out why exactly the four of them were out of bed so late. Malfoy had challenged Harry to a wizard's duel (Canada didn't like the sounds of that), Ron had volunteered to be his second (weren't seconds for when the first participant died?), Hermione had tried to talk them out of it and gotten locked out of the common room, and Neville hadn't been able to remember the password when he and Alfred were released from the hospital wing, so the two had been sleeping in the corridor when the others had woken him up. From the sounds of it, Alfred was still asleep. _He isn't going to be happy when he wakes up and finds out Harry was doing stuff without him again, _thought Canada.

Far sooner than Canada would have liked they had sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed towards the trophy room, where the duel was to take place. Malfoy and his second weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Canada saw Harry take out his wand, probably in case Malfoy ambushed them. The minutes crept by with nothing happening.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered. Canada groaned internally. _ Now something horrible is going to happen. Thank you for jinxing it, Ron._

Sure enough, a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak – and it wasn't Malfoy. "Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner." Kumahero let out a growl. It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Harry waved madly at the other four to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently towards the door away from Filch's voice. Canada's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter. "Probably hiding."

"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Wait a minute, why was Canada so scared? He was a nation! Some crusty old caretaker wouldn't be able to do anything to him. The worst that would happen was expulsion, and that didn't matter too much to him. But it would probably matter a lot to Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville, he realized. So he stayed as quiet as possible.

Just as he reached this new resolution, his pet decided that now would be a great time to say, "I'm hungry." Neville let out a frightened squeak at the noise and broke into a run – he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour. The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle. _Oh, maple leaf._

"RUN!" Harry yelled and the five of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following- they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead with what Canada hoped was some idea where they were and where they were going. They ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering. Canada, who was himself a bit out of breath, patted him on the back.

"I – _told _– you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest. "I – told – you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Ron. "Quickly as possible." They seemed to have forgotten that Canada was in Hufflepuff, but now didn't seem the right time to remind them.

"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realise that, don't you? He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off." Canada nodded in agreement. It made sense.

"Let's go," said Harry. He seemed to have unofficially taken the place of leader, not that Canada was complaining. He seemed pretty good at it so far. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to be as simple as they hoped. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them. It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves – please – you'll get us thrown out," begged Harry.

Peeves cackled. "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caught." He noticed Canada. "Oh, it's wittle Alfwed! Not running away this time, huh? BOO!" He lunged at Canada, a ridiculous expression on his face.

Canada merely sighed. "I'm Matthew, not Alfred. And please be quiet. We don't want to get caught, eh."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves – that was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!" Ducking under Peeves they ran for their lives (or at least the others did. Canada was under no impression he was in any real danger), right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door – and it was locked.

"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door. "We're done for! This is the end!" Canada patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could towards Peeves' shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock and whispered, "_Alohamora!_" The lock clicked and the door swung open – they piled through it, shut it quickly and pressed their ears against it, listening. Canada was at first worried, but as the conversation between Filch and Peeves unfolded he found himself breathing a sigh of relief. It seemed that Peeves was reliably unreliable.

"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered, referring to Filch. "I think we'll be okay – get _off_, Neville!" It seemed that Neville was tugging on the sleeve of Harry's dressing gown. "_What?_"

They turned around – and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, Canada was sure he was high – this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far. He must have smoked some pot and forgotten about it. They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden. They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog which filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs. Yup, this definitely had to be a hallucination.

The hallucination was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Canada knew that the only reason it hadn't attacked was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

He heard the click of someone turning the doorknob, much to his relief. There was a _slight _chance the giant three-headed dog was real, and he'd much rather face a crusty old caretaker than a _freaking giant three-headed dog. _They fell backwards- Harry, who must have been the one who opened the door, slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared – all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster.

As he ran, Canada spotted a familiar intersection. _ I think I can get back to the Hufflepuff common room from here. _ Without so much as a goodbye he veered away from the others. He didn't want to follow them all the way to the Gryffindor common room, not know where to go, and end up back at square one. Besides, Alfred was still asleep in the corridor there, right? He really didn't want to be around when his brother realized he'd been left out of yet _another _adventure. He thought of a bunch of other reasons to abandon the others as he ran towards the Hufflepuff basement.

Eventually he reached the stack of barrels that hid the entrance to the common room. His hand shaking from the exertion, he tapped the barrel with the correct sequence, and the lid swung upon, revealing the entrance. As soon as he arrived in the cozy common room he collapsed in a chair, his pet bear still clutched to his chest.

Once he caught his breath, he looked at Kumajerry. "Okay, that's it," he said to the bear. "I'm done with marijuana."

**A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! (^-^)(^-^) And high-fives to fictionhunter and You-Know-Who for their wonderful reviews! (^-^)/\(^-^)/\(^-^) Terry Pratchett is one of my favourite authors of all time, so thank you for the compliment, You-Know-Who! This chapter took me a while to do, partly because it's pretty long, and partly because I got distracted by stuff. And, yes, in this fic Canada is a bit of a stoner. He doesn't do it at Hogwarts, though. He's too much of a goodie-two-shoes. Also, I find leaving America out of Harry's adventures far too amusing. NEXT CHAPTER: Harry gets a broomstick. It's probably going to be pretty short. See you all next time!**


	13. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12: BREAKFAST AND BROOMSTICKS**

Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Ron were still at Hogwarts next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by next morning Harry and Ron thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure and they were quite keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harry filled Ron in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.

"Or both," said Harry.

"I can't believe you guys left me out of ANOTHER adventure," said Alfred. Then he stopped talking to them. He was very upset about Harry and Ron not including him in their life-threatening incidents. Harry and Ron thought it best to leave him alone. He was a good friend, but he could be rather annoying at times.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

Neither Neville, Hermione, nor… Matthew (yes, that was the name) showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again, and when they tried to talk to Matthew about it the Hufflepuff had insisted it was all a dream.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus. All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the post about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel. Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

_DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.  
>It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everyone knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch pitch at seven o'clock for your first training session.<em>

_ Professor M. McGonagall_

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Ron and Alfred, who was now talking to them again, to read.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even _touched _one."

"I don't know much about brooms," said Alfred. "But from the sounds of it you got the broom equivalent of a Ferrari."

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first lesson, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."

Ron couldn't resist it. "It's not any old broomstick," he said. "It's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Harry and Alfred. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"Ooooooooh, _burn_," said Alfred, fist-bumping Ron.

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow. "Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," he added.

Harry and Ron headed upstairs smothering their laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion. Alfred didn't bother hiding it, looking back to stick his tongue out at Malfoy once Professor Flitwick was out of sight.

"Well, it's true," Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase. "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall, I wouldn't be on the team…"

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.

"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron. "It's doing us so much good."

"Yeah, dude, I was just about to break my personal record on not being lectured by a bossy know-it-all," said Alfred. "And now you've totally ruined it."

Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch pitch where he'd be learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating and then rushed upstairs with Ron and Alfred to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled on to Harry's bedspread. Alfred simply gave a wolf-whistle.

Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and _Nimbus Two Thousand _written in gold near the top.

Alfred ran a finger along the length of the broom. "Yeah, dude, I was right. You totally got the sports car of broomsticks. And that is a sentence I never thought I'd say aloud."

**A/N: HUGS! (^-^)(^-^) Pretty short chapter today. My brain is incapable of making up anything funny to say here. Thank you all for your reviews and follows and favourites and views and stuff. NEXT CHAPTER: Halloween from America's POV. See you all next time!**


	14. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13: HALLOWEEN**

Perhaps it was because most of the classes were so boring, but America found it hard to believe that he'd been at Hogwarts for only two months. Usually such a short period of time would feel like it passed in the blink of an eye. Maybe he was spending so much time around humans that his internal clock had adjusted to be more in tune with them. He mentally shrugged. It was a mystery, and one he didn't feel compelled to solve.

On Halloween morning they woke to the smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. It smelled pretty good, but at that point America would have given just about anything for a hamburger, or a festive cupcake with glow-in-the-dark orange icing. On the plus side, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something everyone had been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practise. America got paired up with Harry, which he was happy about. Despite his annoying habit of having adventures without him, Harry was a pretty cool dude. Harry seemed pleased with the arrangement as well, perhaps because Neville had been trying to catch his eye. America understood completely. Neville was nice and all, but America didn't feel like having to tell England that another piece of his school equipment had been destroyed. Ron, however, was to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to the three of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practising!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest." America thought that that wasn't such a bad thing to have happen. He fondly remembered playing with buffalos when he was young.

Trying to perform the spell wasn't nearly as fun. America and Harry swished and flicked (that was a phrase that would never see the light of day), but the feather they were supposed to be sending skywards just lay on the desktop. America found himself hating the stupid feather more than anything else he'd encountered at Hogwarts.

Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck, just like any good friend should. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," America heard Hermione snap. "It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-_o_-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

America turned back to the stupid feather on his own table. Okay, that was it. He was _not _going to let himself be shown up by a human. Trying his best to emulate what Hermione had just done, he flicked his wand and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" To his surprise, the feather actually started floating.

Professor Flitwick was pleased. "Ah, excellent-" He was interrupted by the feather exploding. Many of the students made frightened yelps at the loud noise, Harry nearly fell out of his chair, and Professor Flitwick tumbled off of his stack of books.

America was silent for a few moments. When he found his voice again, he said, "That…was…AWESOME!" He let out a cheer. "Yeah, that was WAY cooler than what she did! Am I right, dudes? Dudes?" He looked around. Most of the class was just now peeking out from under their desks. Harry was rubbing his forehead in the same way England often did when America did something awesome. Hermione merely gave a smug smile.

Ron was in a very bad temper by the end of the class. "It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to America and Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor. "She's a nightmare, honestly." Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. America caught a glimpse of her face – and was startled to see that she was in tears.

"I think she heard you," said Harry, who had obviously also noticed her expression.

"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

America looked at the corner Hermione had vanished behind. "Dude, you really should apologize to her," he said. He had often been in Ron's shoes – accidentally being really insensitive, that is. Usually with other nations they yelled at him, and he insulted them a bit, and they insulted him back, and it was all in good fun. When someone started crying, generally things had gone too far and the best thing to do was apologize and give them food. That lesson seemed applicable here.

Ron didn't have much of a chance to apologize, though, since Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, America, Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' toilets and Alfred was trying to cheer her up. This confused America a bit, since he was pretty sure he wasn't in the girls' toilets trying to cheer up Hermione. Whatever. Rumours could be weird. Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione and America's possible doppelganger out of their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start of term banquet. America would rather have been spending the night at the Halloween party his fellow nations were no doubt having, but he supposed this would have to do.

He was just complaining about the lack of hamburgers when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table and gasped, "Troll- in the dungeons – thought you ought to know." He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence. "Prefects," he rumbled. "Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Percy was in his element. "Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!" Percy reminded America of a politer, more soft-spoken Germany.

"How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke." America instinctively checked for the poltergeist. _Phew, he's not around. I really hate that guy. Ghost. Whatever._

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, America spotted Harry grabbing Ron's arm and stopped.

"I've just thought- Hermione."

"What about her?"

"She doesn't know about the troll."

America put his hands on his hips in a heroic pose. "Let us save her, then, as heroes of justice!" he stage-whispered. Yes, this was perfect! Ron could apologize to Hermione, and they would all be heroes!

"Oh, all right," Ron snapped. "But Percy'd better not see us."

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor and hurried off towards the girls' bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them. "Percy!" hissed Ron, pulling America and Harry behind a large stone griffin. Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

"Search me," said Ron.

"Well, whatever he's doing, it seems pretty suspicious, dudes," said America. Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps.

"He's heading for the third floor," Harry said, but Ron held up his hand.

"Can you smell something?"

America sniffed and a really bad smell reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public bathroom no one seems to clean. And then they heard it – a low grunting and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed: at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving towards them. America would have remained in the light and started a fight right then, but Harry and Ron were shrinking into the shadows, so he supposed he should as well. They watched as the big thing emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was an amazingly ugly creature. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite grey, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible in a bad way. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long. America had never seen a creature that screamed _I'm a bad guy please punch me _as much as this one. The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

"The key's in the lock," Harry muttered. "We could lock it in."

"Good idea," said Ron nervously.

America sighed. "Oh, _fine_," he said. He'd really wanted to fight it. They edged towards the open door, America almost hoping the troll would come back out and let him beat it up. With one great leap, Harry managed to grab the key, slam the door and lock it.

"_Yes!_"

America felt it was rather anticlimactic, but he would take it. Flushed with their victory they started to run back up the passage, but as they reached the corner they heard something that made their hearts stop – two screams, one high, petrified and wordless, the other softer and saying, "Hermione, look out!" – and they were coming from the chamber they'd just chained up.

America whirled around. He'd recognize that soft voice anywhere. "MATT!" He sprinted back to the door and turned the key, fumbling in his panic – he pulled the door open – he ran inside, Harry and Ron close behind.

Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. Canada was desperately pulling at her arm, trying to get her to move. His bear was growling at the troll. Sinks were knocked off the walls as it advanced.

America started towards the troll, rolling up his sleeves, preparing to punch it right in the face. Canada noticed and called out, "Alfred, no! It's too strong!" Alfred stopped, staring at him. What did he mean, it was too strong? He was the United States of America! He could beat up this thing with ease! Then it dawned on him that while America could punch a troll in the face no problem, eleven-year-old human Alfred Jones wouldn't be able to do so without arousing some serious suspicion.

"Confuse it!" he heard Harry say, and seizing a tap the black-haired boy threw it as hard as he could against the wall. The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione and Canada. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout towards Ron instead. Canada was still trying to pull Hermione towards the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.

"Bro, come on!" America yelled. "Now's not the time to be polite! Just drag her already, I know you can do it!"

Canada gave him a rare glare. "You should always be polite."

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started towards Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape. America grabbed the nearest piece of broken pipe and threw it at the troll as hard as he could. It buried itself in the troll's side, drawing blood, at the same time Harry did something awesome: he took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind. America winced slightly as he saw his wand go straight up one of the troll's nostrils. That couldn't be pleasant.

Howling with pain, the troll first pulled the piece of pipe out of its side, apparently not having the basic first-aid knowledge to know that was the last thing you wanted to do. Then it started twisting and flailing its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the club. Oh, what America wouldn't give for a gun right now.

As it was, he grabbed another piece of pipe and started aiming. He quickly realized that throwing it would be very risky, since there was a good chance he'd end up hitting Harry. Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright, with an exasperated Canada still trying to soothe her while restraining his bear from attacking the troll. Ron pulled out his own wand and cried, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over – and dropped, with a sickening crack, on to its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble. America ran over and helped a shaking and out of breath Harry to his feet. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.

It was Hermione who spoke first. "Is it – dead?"

"I don't think so," said Harry. "I think it's just been knocked out." He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy grey glue. "Ugh – troll bogies." He wiped it on the troll's trousers.

America would have started cheering about their heroic exploits, but a sudden slamming and sound of loud footsteps made the five of them look up. Oh, yeah, they had made a lot of noise. Someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart. _Some hero class teacher you are,_ America thought sarcastically.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at America, Harry and Ron. America had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. It was kind of scary. Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from America's mind.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. America looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?" Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry dropped his eyes to the floor. America wished Ron would put his wand down.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows. "Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last, a worried Canada at her side. "I went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because I've read all about them." Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher? "Matthew noticed me leaving and followed me, trying to talk me out of it. If they hadn't found us, we'd be dead now. Alfred buried a pipe in its side, Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish us off when they arrived." America, Canada, Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"Well – in that case…" said Professor McGonagall, staring at the five of them. "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?" Hermione hung her head. America was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if England had made a decent meal.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses." Hermione left. Professor McGonagall turned to the others. "Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You will each win Gryffindor five points, and Mr… Jones will win Hufflepuff five points for realizing what a foolish idea this was. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

They hurried out of the chamber and, apart from saying goodbye to Canada when he went off to the Hufflepuff dormitories (Harry and Ron actually seemed to notice him go, which was good), they didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

"We should have got more than fifteen points," Ron grumbled.

"Yo, being a hero is its own reward for me!"

"Ten, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's," said Harry.

"Oh, well, yeah, that's kind of a bummer," admitted America.

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron also admitted. "Mind you, we did save her."

"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her," Harry reminded him.

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Pig snout," they said and entered. The common-room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed paused. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said "Thanks", and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them. Oh, and Canada had gotten added to the mix as well.

**A/N: Whew, pretty long chapter. And it was a happy accident that the Halloween chapter was chapter thirteen. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! (^-^)(^-^) In response to Don't Insult Oliver's Cupcake's confusion about Canada's last name being Jones: It would be a bit suspicious if two brothers had different last names, so England just filled out Canada's paperwork with the surname Jones to avoid any questions. I'm thinking his middle name is William to make up for it, though. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada thinks about stuff. Please review, it makes me feel happy. See you all next time!**


	15. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14: QUIDDITCH**

"Bro, I'm telling you, Snape is _totally _the one who did it!"

Canada and America were making their way through the crowded bleachers (or stands or whatever it was that England called them), trying to get to where Ron, Hermione, Neville, and two other Gryffindors named Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas were sitting. America was telling Canada about what had happened when Harry went to get _Quidditch Through the Ages _back from Professor Snape. Canada nodded occasionally as his brother ranted about how untrustworthy and suspicious the Potions Master was. It did seem suspicious, but Canada didn't see what they could do about it. There was no way Dumbledore would believe a bunch of eleven year olds over one of his teachers.

America only stopped his theorizing when they reached the other first-years. "Yo, sup dudes!" he greeted, sitting next to Dean. "Did you finish the thingy?" Canada sat on America's other side, wondering what this 'thingy' was.

Ron nodded and held up what looked like a tattered bedsheet. It had the words _Potter for President_ emblazoned in a flashing print upon it and a well-drawn Gryffindor lion beneath. A more crudely drawn explosion framed the thing. Canada recognized his brother's handiwork. "I'm sure that will cheer Harry up, eh," he complimented.

Ron gave him a somewhat worried look. "Thanks, Matthew, but aren't you cold?"

Canada glanced down at himself. He was wearing his usual robes. Then he looked up at everyone else and realized they were dressed in winter cloaks, gloves, scarves, and a few were even wearing hats. "It… doesn't seem very cold to me…" he murmured, feeling embarrassed. Britain was supposed to be very cold and wet, right? It hadn't seemed that way to Canada. He supposed the climate of his homeland had made him accustomed to cold and wet conditions.

He didn't have any more time to reflect on the weather, because the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams had walked onto the pitch. He began cheering along with all the other spectators. Even he had trouble hearing his own yells. Was he really that quiet? Or was it just that he was sitting next to America, whose shouts of "YEEEAAH! GO HARRY! WHOOOOO!" were loud enough that Dean was covering his ears and nearby spectators were shooting the nation dirty looks. It was probably a mixture of the two reasons.

Madam Hooch, who was refereeing, spoke to the team Captains, but the combination of distance and cheering made her impossible to hear. She was probably saying something along the lines of 'no cheating'. Even at this distance, though, Canada thought he saw Harry's head turn towards them. Hopefully he spotted the banner and it made him feel a bit better. He must have been very nervous. The teams clambered onto their brooms, Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle, and fifteen brooms rose up high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too-"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor." The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall. The rest of his commentary, while quite obviously biased towards Gryffindor, was somewhat more professional. When Angelina Johnson got the first goal, all the Gryffindor supporters, Canada included, cheered, while the Slytherin supporters howled and moaned.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!" Canada noticed Ron and Hermione squeeze together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars round his neck. "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?" Canada chuckled at how America's head spun towards him at the sound of 'eh'. He really needed to stop saying it so much, if America automatically associated them together.

"Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skywards at the speck that was Harry. Sure enough, Harry had spent most of the match gliding above his team-mates, obviously looking for the Snitch. The most exciting thing he'd done so far was a few loop-the-loops after Angelina scored, probably just to celebrate.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying. "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?" A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Canada hugged Kumadere tightly as Harry and Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs hurtled neck and neck towards the Snitch. "YEAH, GET IT HARRY!" cheered America. Harry was faster – he was nearly there – WHAM! Marcus Flint blocked Harry on purpose and the Seeker's broom span off course, Harry hanging on for dear life. Roars of rage echoed from the Gryffindors. "DUDE THAT WAS SO NOT COOL!" America shouted.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But it seemed that in all the confusion the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again. "Send him off, ref! Red card!" yelled Dean. America and Canada joined in.

"This isn't football, guys," Ron reminded them. "You can't send people off in Quidditch – and what's a red card?" Canada facepalmed. Wizards really needed to get out in the Muggle world more.

Hagrid was on their side. "They oughta change the rules, Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air." Canada nodded while America yelled, "Yeah!"

Lee Jordan was as biased as always. "So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul-"

"_Jordan, I'm warning you _–"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

The game continued, with Slytherin scoring again. It was then that Canada heard Hagrid mumble, "Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing. If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom… but he can't have…" Canada looked up, and sure enough, Harry was zig-zagging through the air and making violent swishing movements that no Quidditch player would make of their own free will. _Oh, maple, I'm sorry I didn't notice you, Harry! I was so caught up in the game, eh._ He let out a gasp when the broom gave a particularly violent jerk and Harry swung off it, dangling from it with only one hand.

"HOLD ON, HARRY!" yelled America. "JUST THINK OF IT AS A BUCKING BRONCO!" _Brother, I don't think he has any experience with bucking broncos._

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic – no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

A moment later, Ron moaned, "What are you doing?" Canada glanced over to see that Hermione had seized Hagrid's binoculars and was looking frantically at the crowd. _Of course, _Canada realized. _She's looking for whoever is cursing Harry's broom. It can't be one of the players, so it must be someone in the crowd._

"I knew it," she gasped. "Snape – look." Ron grabbed the binoculars and looked at what Canada had to assume was Snape. "He's doing something – jinxing the broom," said Hermione.

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me."

Hermione disappeared. Canada hoped she knew what she was doing, because Harry couldn't hold on for much longer. The Weasleys tried flying up and pulling Harry onto one of their brooms, but every time they got near the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. America was on his feet yelling unhelpful encouragements while Canada buried his head in Kumachin's fur. The little bear hugged him back, whispering his standard, "Who are you?" Neither of them could bear to look.

"Come on Hermione," Ron muttered desperately. Canada shared the sentiment.

About thirty seconds later, America shook his shoulder. "Bro, you can look!" Ron was saying something similar to Neville. Canada looked up and saw Harry back on his broom, speeding towards the ground – when suddenly he clapped his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick – he hit the pitch on all fours – coughed – and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

**A/N: Okay, I lied. I was going to write a chapter about Canada reflecting on his newfound friendships and Snape taking Harry's book, but I just couldn't get into what my mother would probably call 'the groove'. I've been a bit distracted the last couple of days, so I couldn't concentrate enough to write that chapter. So I decided to skip ahead and just write the first Quidditch match, which is much more interesting. ACCEPT MY HUGS AS AN APOLOGY (^-^)(^-^) NEXT CHAPTER: Post-game tea at Hagrid's from Harry's POV. Hopefully. Who knows, I could be wrong again. See you all next time!**


	16. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15: THE SECRET OF NICOLAS FLAMEL**

"He didn't _catch _it, he nearly _swallowed _it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference – Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the result – and Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Ron, Hermione, Alfred and… uh… Matthew. Right, that was it. Matthew. Good old Matthew.

"It was Snape," Ron was explaining. "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

Alfred's eyes bulged. "Seriously, dude? I knew that creepy bat-guy was one of the bad guys! I mean, just look at that mass of grease he calls hair!"

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

The five first-years looked at each other, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth. "I found out something about him," he told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot. "How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"_Fluffy?_"

"Yeah – he's mine – bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year – I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the –"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me any more," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But, dude, creepy bat-dude's trying to _steal _it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry, eh?" whispered Matthew, speaking for the first time since arriving. Everyone gave a slight jump before they remembered, oh, yeah, he came with them.

Hermione, whose view of Snape had been changed by the afternoon's events, said, "I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn't try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all fou- five of yeh – yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel-"

"BOOM! GOTCHA!" cried Alfred. "So there's a dude called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. Matthew and Alfred had started spending most of their time playing hockey on the lake. Harry had tried joining in once or twice, but while he got the feeling the brothers were going easy on him they were still far, far better than him, so he took to just watching them. It was amazing how confident Matthew seemed when he was playing.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common-room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the draughty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons. Even the nearly immune-to-cold Matthew was wearing a scarf.

"I do feel sorry," said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class. "For all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home." He was looking over at Harry as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lion-fish, put his free hand on Alfred's shoulder to stop him from running over and punching them in the face. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that Slytherin had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Then he'd realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harry about having no proper family.

It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come round the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up at once. He didn't feel sorry for himself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas he'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying, too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it. "Yo, Hagrid, want some help?" Alfred asked, sticking his head through the branches.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Alfred."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoy's cold drawl from behind them. "Are you still trying to be a 'hero', Jones? If you keep that up, when you leave Hogwarts you'll be lucky to live in a place that makes that hut of Hagrid's seem like a palace."

Alfred dived at Malfoy and managed to land a punch straight to the face just as Snape came up the stairs. "JONES!" Alfred looked at him with an expression of pure innocence while Malfoy fell to the ground, unconscious.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his hugr hairy face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' him for wantin' ter be a hero."

"Be that as it may, he appears to have broken Malfoy's nose, and fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor, Jones, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you." Crabbe and Goyle started dragging Malfoy towards the hospital wing.

Once they were gone, Alfred let out a laugh. "Man, you guys have _no _idea how good that felt. I've totally been wanting to do that for months."

"Believe me, so have I," said Ron. "But still… fifteen points…"

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

So the four of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations. "Ah, Hagrid, the last tree – put it in the far corner, would you?" The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls and no fewer than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me – Harry, Ron, Alfred, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh, yeah, that. Matt's probably already there," said Alfred, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Harry told him brightly. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

"You _What?_" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here – I've told yeh – drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said Hermione.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere – just give us a hint – I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin'," said Hagrid flatly.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, _or _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_; he was missing, too, from _Important Modern Magical Discoveries, _and _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. _And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows. Alfred and Matthew both said the name was familiar as well, but they couldn't quite remember where they'd heard it.

They met up with Matthew in the library and Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Alfred and Matthew went off on their own, quietly discussing something Harry couldn't hear. Hopefully it was on topic, but knowing Alfred… Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books and he knew he'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark magic never taught at Hogwarts and only read by older students studying advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, boy?"

"Nothing," said Harry.

Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him. "You'd better get out, then. Go on – out!" Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry left the library. He, Ron, Hermione, Alfred and Matthew had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to. Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the others had found anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for a fortnight, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.

Five minutes later, Ron, Hermione, Alfred and Matthew joined him, shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.

"You will keep looking while we're away, won't you?" said Hermione. "And send us an owl if you find anything."

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said Ron. "It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione.

Alfred gasped. "OF COURSE! Iggy probably knows who that guy is!" he practically screamed, causing them all to cover their ears. He gave them all a thumbs up. "Don't worry, dudes, the hero will return with the knowledge we seek!"

**A/N: Yay, I think I'm back in the swing of things! HUGS YAY (^-^)(^-^) The title of this chapter is a reference to ****_The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel _****series, which is quite good and I should really get around to finishing it. Bleh, whatever, I have Hetalia and Harry Potter! This chapter ended up longer than I thought it would, since the first part was really short. Ah, well. At least America finally got to punch Malfoy. NEXT CHAPTER: America and Canada go over to England's and interrogate him. See you all next time!**


	17. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16: I'LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS**

England checked his watch, tapping a foot impatiently. The Hogwarts Express should be arriving any minute now. He stuffed his hand back into the pocket of his coat, glaring at the space the train would occupy when it arrived. He'd left his house early to come here, assuming that there would be a lot of traffic, but no, apparently traffic really liked only being there when he was late. So he'd been standing here for half an hour. At least he hadn't been the only one there. There were plenty of parents that had been even earlier than him, eagerly awaiting the return of their children. England found it a bit hard to empathize with them. It had been so nice having America out of the way, and now he had to come back and start making England's life difficult again.

A whistle sounded, and the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station. England let out a sigh of relief. Good. His legs were starting to feel a bit sore from all this standing around. He stayed at the back of the crowd of parents surging forward to greet their children. He _really _wanted to postpone seeing America again. Maybe he could still run off before he had to deal with him.

He was still internally debating whether or not he should flee when America, a girl with bushy brown hair, and a boy who looked just like – oh, wait, that was Canada – stepped off the train. A Muggle man and woman pushed their way to the girl, hugging her and seeming happy to see her again. Even from over here he could hear America greet them and introduce himself. He didn't seem to notice England glaring at him. Canada did, though, and waved, smiling. England returned the gesture and expression and began pushing his way through the crowd. He'd missed Canada much more than America.

America was still so absorbed in his conversation with the brown-haired girl's parents ("You guys are dentists? I totally didn't know they even _had _dentists here!") that he didn't notice England even when he was standing right behind him. Canada did, though. "Hello, Arthur," the quiet nation whispered.

America jumped at the sound of his brother's voice and whirled around, jumping back when he realized how close England was. "Wha- Iggy, how long have you been there?!"

"About ten seconds," England replied. "You would have noticed if you hadn't been… well… you."

America was about to reply when the brown-haired girl said, "Oh, so you're Alfred and Matthew's guardian?" She held out a hand. "I'm Hermione Granger, one of their friends. It's nice to meet you."

England shook her hand. "I'm Arthur Kirkland, as I'm sure you already know. It's good to meet you as well." He held out his hand to her parents. "It's nice to meet you as well, Mr. and Mrs. Granger?" He delicately added the question mark, just in case they weren't her parents. They both smiled and shook his hand. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I think it's best that we-" he gestured to America and Canada. "- get back home as soon as possible."

America pouted at him. "Dude, come on! You're not even gonna let us say goodbye?"

England rubbed his forehead. Barely a minute of interacting with America and already he had a headache. "Fine, but try to be quick about it."

America grinned. "Thanks, Iggy!" He turned to Hermione and gave her a bear hug. "See you soon, Hermione!"

He released her, and Canada stepped in to hug her as well, but much more gently. "Take care of yourself, Hermione, eh?" he whispered. He let her go.

She waved to them both. "I will. Goodbye!" She and her parents set off. Canada's pet polar bear waved to her as well.

England started walking briskly back to the luggage trolley he'd left behind. America and Canada followed him, with the former saying, "Crap, I almost forget. Yo, Iggy, do you know who Nicolas Flamel is?"

England had reached the trolley now. "Yes, why?" He gestured for the two of them to start loading up their luggage.

"There's this big three-headed dog named Fluffy at Hogwarts that's guarding something for him," said America as he lifted his trunk onto the trolley.

England was amazed by how casual America was able to make that sentence sound. He really was getting used to the magical world. "Who on Earth named a giant three-headed dog Fluffy?" he wondered aloud.

"Hagrid," answered Canada. "He's really nice, but he seems to like dangerous creatures a bit too much."

"Hmm… it's guarding something for Nicolas Flamel…" England froze as the penny dropped. _Of course! The Gringotts break-in! Dumbledore must have moved the Stone to Hogwarts to keep it safe. Question is, who is trying to steal it… _He noticed America and Canada giving him funny looks. "Does anyone else know about this?" he asked.

America nodded. "Yup! Hermione knows about it too, along with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. We've all been trying to figure out who Nicolas Flamel is. Harry thinks he's read the name before, and me and Matt are pretty sure you mentioned him once or something, but we haven't found anything. Oh, and Neville knows about the dog, too, but I think he's just trying to ignore it."

England sighed. "Look, Alfred, I know that you want to be the hero here, and if it were just you two I'd probably let you take care of it, but this is too dangerous for a bunch of eleven-year-olds. They're getting in way over their heads, and if I tell you two who Nicolas Flamel is you'll just tell them and probably get them killed. Do you want that?"

Both America and Canada looked shocked and upset. "Of course we don't!" they both said, America much louder than Canada.

"Then just leave it be." England picked up Canada's now forgotten trunk and put it on the trolley. "Now, let's go. I've already spent way too long here."

America blinked. "Huh? How long have you been here?" England stayed silent. "Wait, did you come early to pick us up?"

England felt himself flush and spluttered, "I-It was an accident! I thought there would be a lot of traffic, so I left early! It's not like I was looking forward to seeing you or anything!" He started pushing the trolley towards the barrier that would lead them back to the Muggle world. He was so busy trying to ignore America that he didn't hear the whispered conversation he had with Canada.

"Alfred, I just realized something."

"Huh? Seriously? Spill!"

"It wasn't Arthur that mentioned Nicolas Flamel to me first. It was Francis."

"Really? Do you think he'd be willing to tell us more?"

"Probably more willing than Arthur, anyway, eh. Do you know if he's coming to the Christmas party?"

"I'm not the one throwing it this year, but you know Francis. The dude loves a good party. Think you can ask him there?"

"We'll see, eh."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Matthew."

**A/N: Okay, I lied again. This wasn't exactly an interrogation. THE PREVIEWS MAY BE LIES BUT THE HUGS ARE REAL! (^-^)(^-^) So, yeah, I started this chapter from America's POV but then I realized that I finally had the chance to write from England's! Yay! Oh, England, why so tsundere? POSSIBLY NEXT CHAPTER: A Christmas party and Canada asks France some questions. Reviews make me way too happy, so please review. See you all next time!**


	18. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 17: MON PETIT**

"AH! AMERICA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

"Cuba, it's me, Canada."

"Huh? Oh, sorry. CANADAAA! HOW'VE YOU BEEN?"

That was how Canada's reunion with Cuba went. They were at the nations' Christmas Party, being held by France this year. Since Canada was planning on questioning him about Nicolas Flamel, it was quite the stroke of good fortune. He hadn't seen France yet, but it was nice to see Cuba again. He was feeling pretty good right about now. It was Christmas, he was back in his adult body, he was meeting up with his friends… Speaking of friends…

"CANADA! Vhy haven't you been sending me ze syrup you promised?" Canada turned to see Prussia standing behind him, looking hurt.

"I'm sorry, Prussia," he said. "I haven't had the opportunity, eh. I'll be sure to send you some this week."

Prussia's customary smile quickly returned. "Good. Zough I still can't zink of anyzing zat could be more important zan sending ze awesome me syrup."

Canada smiled back. "I'll be sure to tell the syrup manufacturer to send you some while I'm away, eh. By the way, have you seen France around?" Prussia, France and Spain had all been good friends ever since they teamed up during the War of the Austrian Succession. They were often referred to as the 'Bad Touch Trio'.

Prussia scratched his head. "Hmm… I zink he vent to get some vine. Beer's ze only alcoholic drink for me, so I'm not sure vhere it is."

"Thank you, Prussia. I need to ask him something." With a farewell wave Canada set off, looking for wherever it was the wine was being served. Along the way he bumped into a few other nations, though the only ones to actually notice him were the Netherlands (who was always rather quiet, so their conversation was short) and Ukraine (who was more talkative, but ran off crying when Russia tried to join in). Just when he was starting to think he should just give up and start enjoying the party he heard a familiar laugh and angled towards it.

"Onhonhonhonhon!" Sure enough, there was France, holding a glass of wine and talking with Monaco. He noticed Canada and waved. "Ah, Canada, _mon petit!_ 'Ow is life at 'Ogwarts?" Monaco, realizing that the conversation was over, left as Canada took her place.

"Pretty good," said Canada, speaking in French. "Learning magic is fun. How did you find out I was going?"

France sighed before replying, also in French, "I still have no idea how you got that abominable accent. In answer to your question, you know how much of a lightweight England is. A few sips of ale and he'll tell you anything." His eyes clouded over with reminiscence. "I remember when I went to my own school of magic, long ago… ah, Beauxbatons… so many beautiful young people…" He seemed to return to the present and scowled. "I was never as good at magic as England, though. And if you tell him I said that, the results will not be pleasant."

Canada was surprised. It would have never occurred to him that France had magical training. Well, at least this topic would allow him to ask his question without seeming too suspicious. "Speaking of Hogwarts, some friends of mine have been trying to figure out who someone called Nicolas Flamel is. Do you know anything about him?"

France gasped, eyes lighting up. "Know about him? He is my most famous wizard!" Canada blinked. "I'm sure I told you about him when you were little, do you not remember? He is the only wizard in existence to possess a Philosopher's Stone. An alchemical genius, he is."

Canada blinked. This was going _much_ better than he had expected. "I was 'little' several centuries ago. Isn't he dead by now?"

France grinned, wagging a finger. "Ah, my dear Canada, you underestimate the power of magic. The Philosopher's Stone is able to produce the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. That may not mean much to us, of course, but humans are so very enamoured with the idea. I believe that Nicolas is now… six hundred and sixty-five? Yes, that sounds about right. Which makes him older than you, so make sure to show him the proper respect if you meet him."

Canada found the idea of a human being older than him rather… unsettling. "If I ever meet him, I'll be sure to be polite. How exactly is a stone able to produce the Elixir of Life?"

France shrugged. "I never asked. I suppose it… squirts it out? Or just makes it spontaneously appear nearby? I don't know how it can turn any metal to gold, either. It's amazing what such a tiny stone can do."

Canada remembered Harry mentioning that the only thing they knew for sure about the object that had been taken from the vault was that it was about two inches long. _Could this Philosopher's Stone be what Fluffy's guarding? _"Where is the stone now?" he asked.

France sighed dramatically, laying the back of his free hand on his forehead. "Oh, that is a horrible story! Apparently Nicolas, my pride and joy, felt that I wasn't good enough for him and went to England, taking his stone with him. Just thinking about it makes me weep."

Everything was coming together. "All right, then. Thank you for the talk, France." Canada tried to leave but France grabbed his sleeve.

"No! You cannot make me relive something so traumatizing and just walk away! I need more wine, and you're coming with me!" Canada groaned internally. _This is going to be a long night, isn't it?_

Canada woke up the next day sprawled on France's couch with a bad hangover and his memories of the previous night replaced with blurred images and distorted snatches of conversation. _What did I do last night? _He sat up, thankful that someone had had the decency to close the curtains. He rubbed his forehead. _ Why couldn't they teach us how to cure hangovers at Hogwarts? Then again, I suppose that isn't something you'd teach a bunch of eleven-year-olds._ Kumachoochoo was curled up at his feet, still sleeping.

It was too dark to make out his surroundings. _Okay… I'm pretty sure I'm still at France's place… and I'm on a couch… so I should be in his living room, right? Right. So the kitchen is…_ Canada got up and stumbled in the direction he was pretty sure he could find a glass of water. And… maybe some maple syrup… yes, maple syrup sounded good right about now…

He bumped into pieces of furniture and the walls a few times before he found the door. Opening it, he was flooded with light. He closed his eyes, covering them with his hand just to be safe. _Why does light have to be so bright? _Eyes still closed, he leaned against the wall and stumbled his way through the hallway to what he really hoped was the kitchen.

As he opened the door, a pained cry came from within. He walked inside, closed the door, and tried opening his eyes. The lights were blissfully dimmed, revealing that, yes, he had indeed found the kitchen. The blinds were all closed, and France was sitting at the table, head buried in his arms. He obviously hadn't looked in a mirror yet, since his usually silky-smooth hair was a tangled mess. A glass of water and some pills sat in front of him.

"Sorry," Canada whispered. "Do you have any maple syrup?"

France raised his head, eyes still bleary. "Ungh… I zink so… check ze pantry."

"Thanks." Canada checked the pantry and there was indeed a bottle of maple syrup. It wasn't the good stuff, but he'd take what he could get right now. Sitting down next to France, he opened the lid and began drinking directly from the bottle. _Ah… sweet, sweet syrup… you make me happy and help with hangovers. You make my life complete._

France took a sip of water and a pill, which judging by the packaging was aspirin. "Do you… remember anyzing about last night?" the older nation asked.

Canada lowered the maple syrup, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He was still wearing the same clothes as last night. "Just a few blurry flashes. I… think I might have punched someone."

France gave a small smile. "Well, zat is still better zen me. I can't remember a zing." Something tapped at the window loudly. "Gah! _Merde_, what is zat racket? Canada, you deal wiz it. You seem less 'ung over zan me."

"Fine." Canada was feeling better after having some maple syrup. He got up, went to the window, took a deep breath, and pulled back the curtain. Squinting in the sunlight, he realized that it was snowing. He would have thought it was much prettier if the light reflecting off all that whiteness wasn't drilling straight into his brain as if it was looking for gold. It took him a moment to realize that there were two owls perched on the windowsill, carrying packages. _Presents? Oh, yeah… it must be Christmas… I'm glad I sent everyone their presents yesterday._

He opened the window and the birds flew in, landing on the table and hooting. France groaned and swore at them, burying his head in his arms again. Canada removed the packages and waited for them to fly back out the window before closing it again.

France raised his head slightly, looking at the two presents. "Presents from your magical friends?" he asked.

Canada nodded. "Must be." He grabbed the nearest one and opened the letter that came from it. _To __Alf__ Matthew, from Hagrid._ Inside was some rock cakes. Canada delicately set them aside while France took a peek and gasped in horror at such awful cooking.

Canada opened the next letter. _To Matthew. I saw this in Diagon Alley and thought of you. Merry Christmas, Hermione. _Curious, he opened the package to find a glass jar full of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Peeking in, he realized that every single one of them was a maple syrup flavoured one. He smiled, grabbing one and eating it. He liked Bertie Bott for basing the maple syrup flavour on Canadian syrup.

France read the letter and looked at Canada, raising an eyebrow. "Zis 'Ermione was zinking of you, eh?"

Canada stared at him. "What do you- _oh._ No, it's nothing like that. We're just friends."

France smiled knowingly. "Zere is no need to deny it, _mon petit._ Sure, she may be a bit young right now, but just wait a few years and-"

Canada threw up his hands. "Good grief, France, could you think about something else for a change, eh?"

"Onhonhonhonhonhonhon! You're just upset because I am right." Suddenly, England's eternal animosity towards France was making a lot more sense to Canada.

**A/N: Well, I couldn't make things too easy for the Golden Trio, could I? Alcohol is the best way to stop plot progression from being made and increase my wordcount. Onhonhonhonhonhonhon! *twirls non-existent moustache* Aaaanyway, HUGS! (^-^)(^-^) When you actually think about it, how ****_does _****the Philosopher's Stone make the Elixir of Life? It is a mystery for the ages, apparently. And no, Canada/Hermione isn't going to be a thing, France is just teasing Canada. As for why Harry and Ron didn't send any presents, it's because they're at Hogwarts and don't have the opportunity to go shopping. NEXT CHAPTER: Harry figures out who Nicolas Flamel is in spite of Canada's goof-up. See you all next time!**


	19. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER 18: NICOLAS FLAMEL**

Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the invisibility cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry wished he could forget what he'd seen in the mirror as easily, but he couldn't. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light while a high voice cackled with laughter.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Ron, when Harry told him about these dreams.

Hermione, Alfred, and Matthew, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. Hermione was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!") and disappointment that he hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was. Alfred was put out about having to miss another adventure, but seemed to deal with it much better than earlier instances. Matthew apologized for not being there, apologized for not finding out about Nicolas Flamel, apologized for Harry bumping into him… he was being even more apologetic than usual. Harry asked Alfred if he knew the reason for his brother's strange behaviour, and found out that the two of them had tried to find out who Nicolas Flamel was, but Matthew had made some sort of mistake and they came up with nothing.

They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere. Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Alfred didn't join them, having given up on finding out anything and trying to convince the others it wasn't worth it. Matthew, meanwhile, was researching harder than ever, trying to make up for whatever mess up he had made. Which was good, because Harry had even less time than the others, because Quidditch practise had started again.

*time skip*

The rest of the team hung back to talk to each other as usual at the end of practice, but Harry headed straight back to the Gryffindor common room, where he found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Despite Alfred's enthusiastic, if unhelpful, cheering, chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry and Ron thought was very good for her.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Harry sat down next to him. "I need to concen-" He caught sight of Harry's face. "What's the matter with you? You look terrible."

Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry told the other three about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," said Hermione at once.

"Dude, you should totally play," said Alfred.

"Say you're ill," said Ron.

"Show that creepy bat-dude who's boss!"

"Pretend to break your leg."

"_Really _break your leg."

"I can't," said Harry. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."

At that moment Neville toppled into the common-room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognised at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor tower.

Everyone fell about laughing except Hermione and Alfred, the latter chuckling a bit but still going over to help Neville up and the former leaping up and performing the counter-curse. Neville's legs sprang apart and Alfred helped the trembling boy to his feet.

"Dude, what happened?" Alfred asked him, still laughing a bit as he lead Neville over to sit with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practise that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"

Alfred scoffed. "Forget reporting, we should totally go break his legs or something!"

Neville shook his head. "I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron, while Alfred nodded in agreement. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked. Alfred put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. Harry felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

"Yeah, listen to him, dude!" encouraged Alfred. "You totally got put into the house of heroes! The Hat doesn't judge just anyone a hero, you know. Have you ever walked past the Slytherin table? They're all a bit rank. Probably get haircare advice from Professor McGreasy-Face Snape."

Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog. "Thanks, Harry, Alfred… I think I'll go to bed… D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?"

As Neville walked away Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card. "Dumbledore again," he said. "He was the first one I ever-" He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron, Hermione and Alfred. "_I've found him!_" he whispered. "I've found Flamel! I _told_ you I'd read the name somewhere else before, I read it on the train coming here – listen to this: 'Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for he discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood _and his work on alchemy with his partner Nicolas Flamel'_!"

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd got back the marks for their very first piece of homework. "Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Harry, Ron and Alfred barely had time to exchange mystified and, in Alfred's case, apprehensive looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms. "I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"_Light_?" said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

At last she found what she was looking for. "I knew it! I _knew _it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.

"Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically. "Is the _only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone_!"

This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected. "The what?" said Harry, Ron and Alfred.

"Oh, _honestly, _don't you three read? Look- read that, there." She pushed the book towards them, and Harry, Ron and Alfred read:

_The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal._

_ There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera-lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with is wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight)._

"See?" said Hermione, when the three had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it. That's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you ever dying!" said Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! _Anyone _would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that _Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry,_" said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

Then, to their shock and horror, Alfred said, "Okay, so we figured out who he is… are you guys really sure we should be getting into this?"

The others stared at him, jaws dropping. _Alfred _was _encouraging them to back down? _Alfred, who had looked about ready to punch a troll. Alfred, who just a minute ago had been encouraging Harry to play in a game refereed by Snape.

He noticed their expressions. "It's just… you know," he tried to explain. "This seems like it could get really dangerous, dudes. This Philosopher's Stone is being guarded by a giant three-headed dog, and whoever tried to steal it from Gringotts must have been a totally powerful dark wizard." He ducked his head. "I… don't want to see you dudes, get hurt, okay? And I don't think immortality is all it's cracked up to be."

Harry found his voice first. "We aren't trying to steal it, Alfred. We've figured out who Flamel is and what Fluffy's guarding. That's good enough for now. I can't speak for the others, but personally I'm so busy with Quidditch that I doubt I'd have time to plan a heist." Ron and Hermione nodded in affirmation.

Alfred went back to his normal self so fast he should have gotten whiplash. "Good! Now that that's settled, dudes, let's talk some more about Quidditch! Do you think Snape will actually need a broom? My money's totally on him flapping around like a bat."

**A/N: Gah, I just realized that you guys aren't seeing the proper hug emoticon! I really need to read my own fic more! All this time I thought you were seeing the full thing, but really you were just seeing two faces. Let's see how this one turns out. \(^-^)/ Okay, hopefully that works. I can't believe I never realized my failure at hugging. Special thanks go out to fictionhunter and Don't Insult Oliver's Cupcakes for their wonderful reviews. NEXT CHAPTER: America watches the bat-dude referee a Quidditch match. See you all next time!**


	20. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER 19: BAT-DUDE AND REFEREE**

America was once again making his way through the crowded Quidditch field bleachers with Canada. Ron and Hermione were with them this time, looking very grim. America rolled his eyes at them. "Dudes, come on, Harry's gonna be fine! He's a hero, and the hero always wins!" For some reason, his friends weren't reassured. Canada also seemed very worried, hugging his bear tightly, but he was always a bit of a worrywart. America was still trying to convince them everything would be fine when they sat down next to Neville, who didn't understand why the three were so nervous and had brought their wands. America had seen them practising the leg-Locker curse, probably to use on Snape if he went out of line. So, if you looked at it, he won either way; if Snape didn't try anything, America would be right and Harry would be fine; if Snape _did _try anything, America would get to see him get hit by a curse and hopefully fall off his broomstick.

While Hermione reminded Ron of the proper incantation, America looked out at the stands, bored. His gaze caught on a flash of silver and he recognized Dumbledore's godly beard. He nudged Ron beside him and pointed. "See, dude, Dumbledore's here! There's no way even the bat-dude will mess with him." Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so pissed off.

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," said Ron. "Look- they're off. Ouch!" Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there." Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle. _Dear God, I think I hate this guy more than Russia. If I didn't loathe him so much I'd give him a round of applause._ Draco Malfoy (hehe, it was still a stupid name) continued with, "Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?" Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione had all her fingers crossed in her lap, squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for a Snitch.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. _Does this guy ever shut up? _"It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money – Longbottom and Jones should be on the team, too, since they've got no brains."

America, who had long since gotten used to being called an idiot, didn't respond. Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy. "I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered. America took his eyes off the match and stared at Neville.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle howled with laughter, but America gave Neville an encouraging smile and said, "Yeah, you tell him, man!"

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

Ron's nerves seemed stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Harry, and Malfoy wasn't helping anything. "I'm warning you, Malfoy – one more word –"

"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly. "Harry-!"

"What? Where?" America turned back to the game. Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked towards the ground like a bullet.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy.

Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help. America joined in as well, deciding to go for Crabbe, who was the biggest. There was no way he was letting his friends fight alone, and these guys _really _had it coming.

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, not noticing Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was America, Neville, Crabbe and Goyle. Suddenly there was a lot of cheering. At first America thought it was because he'd just managed to get a KO on Crabbe, but then he realized that it must be for the game. _Did Harry win? He must have. He's a hero!_

"Ron! Alfred! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor are in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, confirming America's hopes as he started pummeling Goyle on behalf of an unconscious Neville. Quite possibly a record-breaking victory and the chance to beat up the Three Stooges? This had to be his favorite Quidditch match yet!

*time skip*

"And then I was all like, 'Say hello to my little friend' and I kicked him in the gut! It was awesome!" The Quidditch match was over, and America was telling Canada all about the battle with the Three Stooges. They were taking a stroll through the castle. America knew that there was a party going on in Gryffindor Tower, but he felt like hanging out with his brother a bit. Since they were in different Houses (which was a total drag, because even if he was a bit too quiet Canada was definitely one of the heroes), America spent much less time with Canada than he'd like.

Canada sighed. "I know, eh, I was there. I took Neville to the hospital wing while you and your friends were cheering for Harry."

America harrumphed. "Why didn't you join in, then, dude? I mean, you've seen those guys, they totally need to get punched as much as possible!"

"You know I've never been as battle-hungry as you, eh," said Canada. "I don't like fighting. And you can definitely handle three eleven-year-olds on your own."

America rolled his eyes. "Man, you are such a- Yo, what's up?" Canada had suddenly looked down the corridor, a serious look in his eyes. He grabbed America and dragged him around the corner. America didn't resist and stayed quiet, getting the feeling that something was wrong.

Sure enough, footsteps sounded in the corridor they'd just left, and a door was opened and shut again. America peeked around the corner. Whoever it was had entered an empty classroom, and judging by the voices coming from it, they were talking. Motioning to Canada to follow him, America went to the door and pressed his ear to it.

He recognized the main speaker immediately. _Harry. Does that mean Ron and Hermione are in there, too? _"So we were right, it _is _the Philosopher's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy – and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus-pocus' – I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell which Snape needs to break through-"

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" said a female voice (definitely Hermione) in alarm.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said a third voice, which definitely belonged to Ron. "We should probably tell Alfred about this. And his brother, too. They're as involved in this as we are."

"I'm not so sure," said Hermione. "You remember how freaked out he was. If we told him about this there's no telling how he'd react. Matthew would probably be on the same boat."

"I guess it's just the three of us, then," sighed Harry. "Come on, let's go see what Fred and George have stolen." America and Canada quickly whipped around the corner again before they were spotted. They only relaxed when the trio's footsteps had faded away, and even then they were still rather tense, albeit for reasons other than fear of discovery.

America looked at Canada. "Dude, this isn't good. If Harry's right, Arthur totally wasn't exaggerating when he said they could get killed. What do they think they're doing? They're just kids!"

Canada smirked. "I think they're trying to be heroes, eh. It might have been a long time ago, but you remember being a kid, right? You think you know better than the adults around you and can handle anything they can."

America snorted. "Not me. I was a clingy scaredy-cat when I was little. Dude, did you really think that way when you were a kid?"

Canada grew flustered. "W-Well, even if I did, I know better _now_." He looked down at his watch. "Well, I should probably get back to the common room. I think everyone will be finished crying by now. Try to keep those three in one piece, eh?" And then he was gone, leaving America to return to Gryffindor tower alone.

**A/N: Yay, I actually wrote what I said I would! HUUUUUUUGGGZZZZZZ \(^-^)/ and proper ones now, because I figured it out. We're about three quarters through the book now. The Golden Trio are getting closer and closer to the truth, no matter how dangerous it is and the fact that they're all eleven (actually, I think Hermione is twelve at this point, but details). Seriously, these three seem to have no concept of getting in over their heads. And we love them for it. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada watches as Hagrid acts very suspiciously. See you all next time!**


	21. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER 20: DRAGON-CARE FOR DUMMIES**

Canada spent the next few weeks feeling a bit stressed out. Harry, Ron and Hermione seemed to have taken it upon themselves to protect Professor Quirrell and the Philosopher's Stone from Professor Snape. Every time he walked with them past that third-floor corridor he saw them press their ears to the door to make sure Fluffy was still there. Every time America was there when they did it he'd say, "Dudes, it's fine, it's a giant three-headed dog." They didn't seem reassured, and they still didn't officially tell them about Snape and Quirrell's conversation. That lack of trust almost hurt Canada just as much as the high probability of their deaths if they kept getting even deeper over their heads.

At least he had his studies to distract him. The end-of-year exams were ten weeks away, and Canada had started revising and reviewing and studying and worrying. If he didn't start early, he'd just procrastinate, he knew, until there was no time left. Hermione had gotten the same idea, though Canada hadn't gone so far as to colour-code all his notes. At least during their library study sessions he could pretend that everything was normal and Hermione was being sensible and not charging blindly into something most adult wizards wouldn't be able to handle. Harry, Ron and America joined in, too, trying to get through all the extra work their teachers had given them.

"I'll never remember this," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the first really fine day they'd had in months. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming.

Canada, who was helping Harry find 'Dittany' in _One Hundred Magical Herbs and Fungi_, didn't look up until he heard America say, "Yo, Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat. "Jus' lookin'," he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. "An' what're you lot up ter?" He looked suddenly suspicious. "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," said Ron impressively. Canada winced. "_And _we know what that dog's guarding, it's a Philosopher's St-"

"_Shhhh!_" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. "Don't go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?" Canada silently concurred.

"Therare a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," said Harry. "About what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy-"

"SHHHH!" said Hagrid again. "Listen – come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh-"

"See you later, then," said Harry. Hagrid shuffled off, and suddenly Harry, Ron and Hermione gave Canada and America slightly worried looks. _Oh, right, we're not supposed to know about the whole multiple-protections thing._

Canada pretended not to have heard that little tidbit and slightly changed the subject. "What was he hiding behind his back, eh?" he whispered.

"Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?" Canada nearly facepalmed. Were these people completely obsessed with this thing?

"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Ron, who'd had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table, startling a sleeping Kumadummy. "_Dragons!_" Ron whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide._"

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him," said Harry. Hagrid seemed to really like anything that could swallow someone whole, didn't he?

"Dude, is that even allowed?" asked America. "I think Iggy said something about it being outlawed back at the start of the 1700's. I guess it makes sense – dragons are kind of hard to hide. It's too bad. Having one as a pet sounds really awesome."

"It isn't," said Ron. "They're impossible to tame, and they're really dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in _Britain_?" said Harry. America started giggling. Canada rolled his eyes at his brother. It wasn't Harry's fault that that sentence brought a very different mental image to them than it did to him.

"Of course there are," said Ron. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our lot have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."

"So what on earth's Hagrid up to?" said Hermione.

*time skip*

Harry, Ron and Hermione let America and Canada come along to Hagrid's an hour later. Canada's guess at their thought process was that this meeting would likely focus on Hagrid's new fascination with dragons, not the Philosopher's Stone, so it was all right for the two of them to come. When they knocked on the door of the gameskeeper's hut, they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called, "Who is it?" before he let them in and then shut the door quickly beside them. It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which Canada was the only one too polite to refuse. "So – yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes," said Harry. Canada was busy trying to choke down a substance quite possibly worse than England's scones, so he decided to let Harry do the talking. He nearly choked when the next words out of the boy's mouth were, "We were wondering if you could tell us what's gone guarding the Philosopher's Stone apart from Fluffy." _Still the stone? I thought we were focusing on the whole dragon thing!_

America thumped Canada on the back, sending him out of his chair, while Hagrid frowned at Harry. "O' course I can't," he said. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts – I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."

Canada climbed back into his chair, still coughing a bit and shooting America a dirty look when he raised his arm to thump him again. "Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you _do _know, you know everything that goes on round here," said Hermione in a warm, flattering voice. Hagrid's beard twitched and they could tell he was smiling. _Hermione, if you lay it on any thicker, I'm not sure what metaphor I'm going for but something bad will happen. _"We only wondered who had _done _the guarding, really," Hermione went on. "We wondered who Dumbledore trusted enough apart from you."

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Harry and Ron beamed at Hermione. Canada turned his attention back to the stoat sandwiches. _I am Canada, the second largest country in the world. I am not about to be bested by food. _While he prepared himself for another bite, Hagrid said, "Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that… let's see… he borrowed Fluffy from me... then some o' the teachers did enchantments… Professor Sprout – Professor Flitwick – Professor McGonagall –" he ticked them off on his fingers while Canada raised the sandwich to his mouth, "Professor Quirrell – an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

Canada bit off a piece and started chewing as fast as possible. _ England, I am never going to complain about your cooking again. _"_Snape?_"

"Yeah- yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped _protect _the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

Canada felt he had chewed enough and swallowed. He grinned, feeling proud of himself. America nudged him and said, "Yo, mind if I have one?" Knowing America's fondness for using bad food as a test of bravery, Canada nodded.

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren't you, Hagrid?" said Harry anxiously. America grabbed a stoat sandwich and stared at it, taking deep breaths. Canada took another bite of his own. It wasn't as bad. Maybe his taste buds were going numb. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?"

"ALL RIGHT, HERE I GO, YOLO DUDES!" America bit down on the sandwich. Everyone ignored him, used to his outbursts.

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid proudly.

America swallowed his first bite. "Dudes, I totally did it! Man, I think that was worse than Iggy's scones."

"You still have the rest of the sandwich to go," Canada whispered. America groaned, banging his head against the table.

"Well, that's something," Harry muttered to the others. "Hagrid, can we have a window open?" I'm boiling."

"Can't, Harry, sorry," said Hagrid. Canada, having just swallowed another mouthful of stoat, noticed him glance at the fire. Harry looked at it, too.

"Hagrid- what's _that_?" But they both already knew what it was. In the heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg. _Oh, maple. First stoat sandwiches, now dragon eggs. Maybe coming along wasn't such a good idea._

America ignored all of them and focused on taking the next bite of the sandwich. "Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard. "That's – er…"

"Dude, I think I'm getting used to it," America said with his mouth full.

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' ot into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest." _Not much of a surprise. _Canada turned back to the remainder of his sandwich. _Only a few more bites to go. Come on, if America can do it, so can you._

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" said Hermione. _All right, one bite down. Looks like it's just… two more after this…_

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. _Just… one more… bite… vision… fading… _"Got this outta the library – _Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit _– it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, a' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here – how ter recognise diff'rent eggs – what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

"WHO JUST FINISHED BEFORE ALFRED, EH?" Everyone stared at Canada. They were used to that kind of volume from America, not him.

America groaned, staring at the remaining stoat sandwich. "Dude… I hate you forever."

"Hagrid, you live in a _wooden house_," Hermione said, not looking nearly as pleased as Hagrid. But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

**A/N: This chapter was pretty fun to write. I like funny background events, and in this case I'm not sure whether it was the stoat sandwiches or the important plot conversation that was the background event. Either way, I think it's funny. HUGS YAY \(^-^)/ NEXT CHAPTER: Harry's adventures with Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback. See you all next time!**


	22. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER 21: NORBERT THE NORWEGIAN RIDGEBACK**

So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut. "Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighed, as evening after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were getting. Hermione had now started making revision timetables for Harry, Ron and Alfred, too. It was driving them mad, especially since Matthew had been studying enough that she felt he didn't need one.

Speaking of Matthew, Harry still hadn't told him or his brother about what happened with Quirrell and Snape. He felt rather bad about it, since they were just as much his friends as Ron and Hermione, even if Alfred could be a bit hard on the eardrums and he sometimes forgot Matthew's name. It was a bit silly not to tell them, since they'd been right there when Hagrid told them about the enchantments guarding the Stone, but they'd seemed preoccupied with their stoat sandwiches. Maybe they hadn't heard anything the rest of them were saying. Harry hoped so, at least. Alfred had seemed so uncharacteristically freaked out about them getting in over their heads, and Matthew would almost certainly feel the same way, that Harry was determined to keep their involvement to a minimum. He was almost tempted to drop the matter himself.

Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Harry another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: _It's hatching._ Ron and Alfred wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut. Hermione wouldn't hear of it. "Dude, come on, it's a freaking _dragon hatching!_" Alfred almost wailed.

"Yeah, Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?"

"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing-"

"Shut up!" Harry whispered. Malfoy was only feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. How much had he heard? Harry didn't like the look on Malfoy's face at all. Alfred obviously didn't, either, because he got what Harry had come to recognize as his 'I really want to punch that dude in the face' look. Ron, Alfred and Hermione argued all the way to Herbology and in the end, Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid's with the others during morning break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their lesson, the four of them dropped their trowels at once (Alfred grabbed Matthew who had somehow materialized out of thin air) and hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them looking flushed and excited.

"It's nearly out." He ushered them inside. The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it. They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated breath, Matthew's pet polar bear (Harry still had no idea how the boy had sneaked it into the castle) putting its front paws on the edge of the table to see what all the fuss was about.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped on to the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body and it had a long snout with wide nostrils, stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes. The polar bear, whose name Harry couldn't remember, said, "What are you?" Matthew nearly answered before realizing his pet wasn't talking to him.

The dragon sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout. "Isn't he _beautiful_?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs. "Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!" said Hagrid. Alfred, with an expression similar to Hagrid's, reached out to stroke the dragon's head as well. It gave him one look, let out what sounded oddly like a purr, and leaned into the point of contact, reminding Harry of a dog being scratched. "Aww, look, he likes you!" crooned Hagrid.

"Hagrid," said Hermione. "How fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?" Hagrid was about to answer when the colour suddenly drained from his face – he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

"What's the matter, eh?"

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains – it's a kid – he's runnin' back up ter the school." Harry bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance there was no mistaking him. Malfoy had seen the dragon.

*time skip*

Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy's face during the next week made Harry, Ron, Hermione, Alfred and Matthew very nervous. They spent most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him. Except for Alfred, who seemed to have grown fond of the dragon.

"Just let him go," Harry urged. "Set him free."

"I can't," said Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

"Yeah, dude," said Alfred. "He's my friend, we can't just abandon him!" They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his gameskeeping duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mummy?"

"Aww, Norbert is a totally cool name! Yo, Norbert, your name is totally cool!" Alfred gave the dragon a hug.

"They've lost their marbles," Ron muttered in Harry's ear.

"Hagrid," said Harry loudly. "Give it a fortnight and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Hagrid bit his lip. "I- I know I can't keep him for ever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't."

Alfred glared at them, his arms still wrapped around the dragon. "Yeah, he's my friend now! He's staying!"

Harry suddenly turned to Ron. "Charlie," he said.

"You're losing it, too," said Ron. "I'm Ron, remember?"

"No – Charlie – your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" said Ron. "How about it, Hagrid? Alfred?"

And in the end, Hagrid and Alfred agreed that they could send an owl to Charlie to ask him.

*another time skip*

The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Hermione, Alfred and Harry sitting alone in the common-room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Ron appeared out of nowhere as he pulled off Harry's invisibility cloak. He had been down at Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

"He bit me!" he said, showing htem his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby."

Alfred glared at him. "Yo, don't talk about Norbert like that! He can't help it that his teeth are so sharp! And which lullaby was Hagrid singing? It needs to be the right one to work, dude."

The looming argument was interrupted by a tap on the dark window. "It's Hedwig!" said Harry, hurrying to let her in. "She'll have Charlie's answer!" The four of them put their heads together to read the note.

_Dear Ron,_

_ How are you? Thanks for the letter – I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some colleagues of mine visiting someone in Britain who are coming back next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon._

_ Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark._

_ Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_ Love,_

_ Charlie._

They looked at each other. "We've got the invisibility cloak," said Harry. "It shouldn't be too difficult – I think the cloak's big enough to cover three of us and Norbert." It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that Ron and Hermione agreed with him. Anything to get rid of Norbert – and Malfoy. Alfred, meanwhile, sulked about losing his awesome new friend.

*Ron gets sent to hospital wing, Malfoy finds out about drop-off, Hagrid is sad*

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say goodbye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about what they had to do. It was a very dark, cloudy night and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid's hut because they'd had to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the entrance hall, where he'd been playing tennis against the wall. Matthew had had to put a hand over Alfred's mouth to stop him from screaming and blowing their cover. Oh, yes, Matthew had insisted on coming along. Harry had told him there wasn't enough room under the invisibility cloak for him, but he'd said that he would be fine.

Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate. "He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," said Hagrid in a muffled voice. "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely." From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Harry as though teddy was having his head torn off. "Bye bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed, as Harry, Hermione and Alfred covered the crate with the invisibility cloak and stepped underneath it themselves. "Mummy will never forget you!"

Harry had no idea how they would have managed to get the crate back up to the castle without Alfred. It seemed that his claims of friendship with the dragon weren't hollow, since he was able to calm Norbert when he got a bit antsy. Alfred was also _really _strong, basically able to carry the crate all by himself. Still, midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. Up another staircase, then another – even one of Harry's short cuts didn't make the work much easier.

"Nearly there!" Harry panted as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower. Matthew, who was scouting ahead for trouble, suddenly came back into view and waved them towards the shadows. They all shrank into the darkness, forgetting they were already invisible (or as good as, in Matthew's case). They quickly saw what had caused Matthew to stop them. The dark outlines of two people grappling with each other came into view about ten feet away. A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan dressing-gown and a hairnet, had Malfoy by the ear. "Detention!" she shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare _you-"

"You don't understand, Professor, Harry Potter's coming – he's got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on – I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest thing in the world after that. Not until they'd stepped out into the cold night air did they throw off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe properly again. Hermione and Alfred did a sort of jig.

"Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

"Dude, I think I know just the right song!"

"Don't," Harry advised them. Chuckling about Malfoy, they waited, Alfred talking with Norbert to stop him from thrashing about in his crate. About ten minutes later, two broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness.

Alfred and Matthew stared at Charlie's colleagues. "Lukas?! Vlad?!"

**A/N: Happy belated Halloween! hugz \(^-^)/ I figured that if America was able to make friends with an alien, a whale, and a unicorn he couldn't actually see, he could make friends with a dragon. And I skipped quite a bit of stuff because I couldn't think of anything good to add. And thank you DIOC (that's my nickname for you now, Don't Insult Oliver's Cupcakes) for the idea of putting in Norway. Norbert is a NORWEGIAN Ridgeback, after all. Then I added Romania because he owns the dragon preserve and then I realized that if they were visiting England I'd have the Magic Trio. So yay for good suggestions. Neither of them have 'official' human names, but pretty much all the fanfiction I've read (which isn't that much, I admit) has called Norway 'Lukas Bondevik', so that's what I'm calling him. Romania is a bit trickier, and I'm still not sure about what his last name should be, but I decided on 'Vladimir' for his first name because he really likes talking about Vlad the Impaler. Please give me suggestions for his last name. There's a good chance I won't mention it, but I'd like to have it locked down just in case. I think this is the closest I've come to a cliffhanger yet. NEXT CHAPTER: America says goodbye to Norbert, and bad things happen. See you all next time!**


	23. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER 22: TWO THIRDS OF THE MAGIC TRIO**

America stared at Charlie's colleagues. One had blonde hair, one strand held back with a cross-shaped hairclip, blank, dark blue eyes, and an equally blank expression. The other had dark strawberry blonde hair, red eyes, fangs poking out of a mischievous smile, and wore a small bowler hat. Yup, it was definitely Norway and Romania. "Lukas?! Vlad?!" he and Canada asked in unison. That was a rare occurrence. Even though they were twins they rarely said the same thing, much less at the same time.

Norway nodded in greeting. Romania was much more enthusiastic. "Alfred, Matzew! Arzur said zat you were at Hogwarts, but we weren't expecting to see you!" He looked at Harry and Hermione, whose eyes were widening at the sight of his fangs. "Oh, are zese your new friends? It is great to meet you! I am Vlad, zis is Lukas!" He held out a hand towards them.

Harry spoke first. "I'm Harry. Er… are you a vampire?"

Romania sighed. "Sadly, no. Don't worry, I do not bite." Harry relaxed and shook his hand.

Relieved not to be facing a vampire, Hermione introduced herself and shook his hand as well. She looked between America, Canada and the newcomers. "Do you know each other?"

_Oh, crap, how am I supposed to explain that? I can't exactly tell the truth here. _Norway swooped to the rescue by saying, "Ve are friends of Arthur's. Ve vere paying him a visit vhen ve received Charlie's letter." He looked around. "I am not seeing anyvun vith red hair. Vasn't his brother supposed to be here?"

"Yeah, but then he scared Norbert and got bitten," said America. _Oh, right, Norbert… _"Y-you're gonna take good care of him, right, dudes?"

Romania patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Alfred. Lukas is good wiz _Norwegian _Ridgebacks." He put emphasis on the word 'Norwegian'. _Well… I guess they _are _native to Norway's place. He probably knows how to take care of them._

Speaking of Norway, the Nordic country was looking at his watch. "Ve should be going soon. I doubt you three- er, four are supposed to be out of bed at this hour."

"Yo, can I say goodbye first?" America asked in a way that meant it was a demand, not a request. Norway and Romania nodded, and he kneeled down to look at Norbert. "I guess this is goodbye, dude." The dragon let out a sad puff of smoke. America coughed and waved it out of his face. "C'mon, man, don't be like that. You know you can't stay here. Lukas and Vlad will take good care of you. So you be good, okay?" Norbert nodded. America stuck a finger through the bars and Norbert rubbed his head against it. "Yeah, I'm sure you'll be fine. We'll see each other again someday, I promise. If any of the bigger dragons pick on you, give 'em hell for me, okay?" He stood up and backed away. Norway and Romania stepped forward to put Norbert's cage in the harness rigged between their broomsticks. They all helped buckle them in, said farewell to Norway and Romania, and America waved to them as they flew off. Norbert was going… going… _gone._

They slipped back down the spiral staircase, America's heart heavy, now that one of his best friends at this school was gone. The others seemed really happy, somehow. _I know that Norbert could be a bit difficult, but they can't be this happy about him being gone, right? Maybe they're happy about Malfoy getting detention? _Thinking about that perked America up a bit. He still had Harry, Ron, Hermione and Canada here. It's not like he was friendless. So, really, things weren't so bad, right?

Apparently that thought was too much of a temptation for the universe. As they stepped into the corridor, Filch's face loomed suddenly out of the darkness. "Well, well, well," he whispered. "We _are _in trouble."

America frowned. What? Filch shouldn't be able to see them, right? They were under the invisi- oh, crap.

*time skip*

America decided that this was the worst night of his student life. He'd had to say goodbye to his awesome friend, and now he and his friends had been caught by Filch. He'd been able to convince Canada to slip away, at least. Sometimes his inability to be noticed came in handy. He should be back in his dormitory by now. America felt a little bit better that someone had managed to get away.

Filch took them down to Professor McGonagall's study on the first floor, where they sat and waited without saying a word to each other. Hermione was trembling, and Harry's mouth shaped excuses, alibis and wild cover-up stories that were quickly discarded. America was trying to come up with a story himself. _Okay… maybe I can say I wasn't able to sleep and looked out the window and saw something in the Astronomy Tower, so I woke up Harry and Hermione to come with me and investigate and be heroes, but we found nothing and got caught by Filch. It'll get us in less trouble than smuggling a dragon out of the school._

Then Professor McGonagall appeared leading Neville. "Harry, Alfred!" Neville burst out, the moment he saw them. "I was trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying he was going to catch you, he said you had a drag-" America and Harry shook their heads violently to shut Neville up, but Professor McGonagall had seen. _I'm a nation, there's nothing she can do to me, _America told himself as she towered over the four of them. _ There's nothing she can do there's nothing she can do there's nothing she can do but dear God she is scary._

"I might have believed it of Mr. Jones, but I can hardly believe it of the rest of you. Mr. Filch says you were up the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. _Explain yourselves._" It was the first time Hermione had ever failed to answer a teacher's question. She was staring at her slippers, as still as a statue. "I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on," said Professor McGonagall. _She's just a human she's just a human she's just a human… _"It doesn't take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock and bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I've already caught him. I suppose you think it's funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?"

"What? No way, dude! That's not funny at all!" America ran over to give poor, blundering Neville a hug. "I'm sorry, man! That must have been really scary for you!"

Professor McGonagall was unmoved by the display. "I'm disgusted. Five students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Granger, I thought you had more sense. And you, Mr. Jones, brazenly disregarding the rules and getting your friends in trouble is hardly heroic. As for you, Mr. Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. All four of you will receive detentions – yes, you too, Mr. Longbottom, _nothing _gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous – and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor."

"_Fifty?_" Harry gasped. Well, there went the points they'd gotten from the last Quidditch match.

"Fifty points _each_," said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily through her long pointed nose.

"Dude, this is _so _not cool-"

"Professor – please –"

"You _can't_-"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Potter. Now get back to bed, all of you. I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students." Two hundred points lost. Holy s***. That put Gryffindor in last place. In one night, they'd ruined any chance Gryffindor had had for the house cup. America felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. First Norbert, now he was losing in a competition. This was definitely the worst night of his school life. He considered adding it to the list of worst nights in his entire life as a nation, but he stopped comparing it almost immediately. Saying what was probably a temporary farewell and losing at a school game just couldn't compare to some of the stuff he'd seen, and it especially couldn't compare to some of the stuff he'd _done_.

America couldn't sleep at all that night. He could hear Neville sobbing into his pillow for what seemed like hours. He really should try saying something to him, but thinking of the worst nights of his life had left him in a mood unsuitable for comforting. Really, he was more in the mood to _be _comforted. _In the grand scheme of things, a House Cup really doesn't matter. In a century or so all these people will be dead. Norbert isn't the only friend I'll have to say goodbye to. I can only spend seven measly years at this school. Even if I hang out with my friends afterwards, eventually they'll start wondering why I'm not aging. Iggy can make us look younger with a wave of a wand, but making us look older is harder. And even if I manage to make myself look the same age as them, they'll eventually die, and I'll be on my own._

It had been a very long time since America had had these kinds of thoughts. On the one hand, it made the events of that night seem immaterial. On the other hand, it made just about _everything _seem immaterial. He tried to live in the moment and not think about this kind of stuff most of the time. _Come on, America, stop feeling sorry for yourself. It's not going to help anything. _He tried to focus on normal school stuff – the homework he really should have finished by now but had put off, the chances of Gryffindor's Quidditch team winning the next match, the Chocolate Frog cards he still needed to collect… He did a pretty good job of distracting himself, but he still didn't dare go to sleep. There was no telling what he might dream about.

**A/N: THE ANGST LEVELS IN THE CHAPTER ARE OVER 9000! Here, America, have a hug \(^-^)/ All you lovely readers can share that hug with him. Yeah, I don't know how this chapter got so angsty. Oh, wait, I know, I wanted to pad out my word-count. Don't worry, Angsty!America should be gone by next chapter. The United States of America doesn't let those feelings bring him down! Back to the beginning of the chapter, I have no idea how accurate Norway and Romania's accents are. I did a five minute search on google. If anyone knows any better, be sure to tell me in reviews or something. You are all wonderful even if you don't review, but friendofthequn Approves +10 if you do (yay Dragon Age references). NEXT CHAPTER: Canada notices that his friends seem down. See you all next time!**


	24. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER 23: BLACK SHEEP OF HOGWARTS**

Canada walked into the Great Hall, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He'd had trouble going to sleep last night, which happened at about the same frequency as the solar eclipse. He knew why, of course. He was feeling extremely guilty about abandoning his friends and brother to their fate while he slipped away. He wouldn't have done it if America hadn't told him to. He really needed to learn how to say 'no'. _I hope that Professor McGonagall wasn't too hard on them._

That hope was squashed when he glanced at the giant hourglasses that recorded the house points. _They lost two hundred points?! _At first he thought he was imagining it due to lack of sleep. He cleaned his glasses on his robe, rubbed his eyes again, and looked again. The Gryffindor hourglass was still much emptier than it had been yesterday. Everyone else who looked at the hourglasses had much the same reaction, especially the Gryffindors. A few even ran off crying once they realized their chances of winning the house cup had vanished with those points.

Things only got worse as the day went on. The story spread like wildfire: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, Gryffindor's hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all those points, him and a couple of other stupid first years. The public opinion of Harry, which had been extremely high only yesterday, had plummeted. Even Canada's own housemates turned on him, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the house cup. Every time Canada saw Harry he was being pointed at and insulted. Unless they were Slytherins, in which case they would applaud him, cheering, "Thanks, Potter, we owe you one!"

Harry was the most popular target, being the most well-known, but the others had to take their share of hate as well. America was the second most targeted, but he completely ignored it and wore his usual grin. Whether that was because of his natural good cheer or his inability to read the atmosphere, Canada wasn't sure. Probably a bit of both. It wasn't helping Canada, though, because people had started mistaking him for America and insulting him as well. Then again, he was used to people doing that by now, so he was able to deal with it.

Ron, Hermione and Neville were all tied for third place. Ron seemed to deal with it pretty well, trying to cheer up Harry and not being very successful. Neville was… well, Neville. Canada felt bad to admit it, but there really wasn't much of a change in his behaviour. Hermione was probably the worst at handling it. She'd stopped drawing attention to herself in class, keeping her head down and working in silence. All in all, Canada's friends seemed miserable, and he wanted to help them out.

Exams were coming up, so Canada didn't have much time to think of how to help out his friends in between all the revision. At least the work seemed to keep Harry's mind off the misery. Or, at least, it was replacing it with academic misery. Still, he spent most of his free time thinking of different ideas. _Maybe a surprise party? But I don't know anyone other than them well enough to invite them… I think a one-person surprise party would just make them even more upset. Hmm… well, maple syrup always makes _me _happy, so maybe it would work with them… maybe I could ask whoever it is who makes the food to use my syrup. But then I'll have to find the kitchens… and I don't think students are allowed in there… What's more important, obeying the rules or helping my friends?_

That question took some thinking about. Eventually he decided to help his friends. _After all, it's not like I've been perfectly rule-abiding so far. _Now the only question was how to get in the kitchens and convince the cook to use his syrup. At the moment he was sitting in the Great Hall at the tail end of lunch, staring into empty space. He spotted the Weasley twins getting up from the Gryffindor table. Of course! They'd probably know, the rapscallions they were. Canada got up and went towards them.

"Fred? George?" he had to repeat several times before they turned to look at him.

"Oh, hey, Alfred!" greeted Fred.

"I'm not Alfred, I'm Matthew, eh."

George elbowed his twin. "Way to go, Fred. If we can tell each other apart, we should have no trouble with these two." He smiled at Canada. "What can we do for you, Matthew?"

"Do you two know where the kitchens are?" Canada asked. "I want to talk to them about the syrup they use, eh."

"Well, I suppose since you're Alfred's brother…" Fred glanced around to make sure nobody else was listening, then leaned down and whispered, "There's a painting of a bowl of fruit somewhere near the Hufflepuff house entrance. Just tickle the pear, and you'll see a concealed door." He straightened up and said, "Well, see you later, Al- Matthew."

"Good luck with the syrup," said George as the twins left.

Canada checked his timetable. He had a free period after lunch. He should really be spending it studying, but he'd been doing enough of that. He headed down to the Hufflepuff Basement, grabbed a bottle of maple syrup from his trunk, failed to wake up a napping Kumadiva, and started wandering around, looking for a painting of a bowl of fruit. He was pretty sure he'd seen it around here somewhere. A few minutes later he located it. He tickled the pear, which began to squirm, chuckling, and suddenly turned into a large green door handle. Canada seized it, pulled the door open, and took in the scene before him.

The kitchen, it turned out, was _huge_. It was just as large as the Great Hall above, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end. More surprising than that, however, was the small creatures bustling about. Canada had been expecting to find wizards and witches working here. Instead he found what he recognized as house elves, at least a hundred of them. They didn't seem to have noticed him yet, of course. He stepped fully inside, closing the painting/door behind him. It closed with an audible click that made all the elves turn to look at him. After a bit of squinting their eyes widened, and one ran over to him, beaming and bowing.

"Greetings, sir!" it said brightly. "Is there anything you need?"

"I was just… wondering about the syrup, eh…" This wasn't what Canada had been expecting.

The house elf's eyes widened. "Is there something wrong with it, sir? If so, we'll try to fix it right away!"

Canada shook himself and held out his bottle. "I was just thinking you could use this kind. It's really good, eh."

The house elf took the syrup, looking it over. It opened it, poured a drop onto its finger, and put it in its mouth. Its already huge eyes widened. "Sir, this is wonderful! Where did you get it?" The moment Canada finished telling it the house elf vanished into thin air with a loud _crack!_ He didn't have much time to be confused before it came back, arms full of bottles of maple syrup. "Thank you so much, sir!" it squeaked. "We'll start using this tomorrow morning! Thank you!"

"You're welcome," said Canada. That had been about a thousand times easier than he had expected. "Well, thank you for your time-"

"Oh, no, sir!" The house elf deposited its load onto a nearby table, where it was picked up by another elf. "You must have some kind of reward! Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Uh… I guess," said Canada. Yes, this _really _wasn't what he'd been expecting. Instantly, about six house-elves came trotting up behind him, bearing a large silver tray laden with teapot, cup, a milk jug and a large plate of biscuits. "Thank you," he said, taking the plate. What followed was what must have been an hour of 'thank you's and 'you're welcome's from both sides. When Canada finally stumbled out, his stomach filled to bursting with tea and treats, he was feeling conflicted.

On the one hand, the situation of house elves made him feel a bit uneasy. It seemed tantamount to slave labour. On the other hand, they seemed so darn _happy_. He'd read that many house elves would consider someone offering to free them with a piece of clothing an insult. And the ones in the kitchen had looked healthy and well-fed. Dumbledore seemed a benevolent boss, and probably made sure they were well looked after, but not all house elves were so lucky. House elves were usually in the service of old, wealthy wizarding families, and a lot of the time that was synonymous with 'pureblood supremists who consider non-humans worthless animals'.

Lost in an internal ethical debate, Canada started wandering through the halls. He still had some time before his next lesson. He was brought back into the real world when he spotted Harry turn into the corridor. Canada was about to call out a greeting when the Boy Who Lived paused, tilting his head as if he'd heard something. Canada heard it, too. Somebody in a classroom up ahead was whimpering. Both students moved closer.

Quirrell's voice could be heard saying, "No – no – not again, please –" It sounded as though someone was threatening him. They moved closer. "All right – all right –" they heard Quirrell sob. Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He strode out of sight; as usual, he hadn't noticed Canada, but it was a bit odd that he didn't seem to even notice Harry. They both peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end. Harry was halfway towards it when he stopped for some reason. Sighing, he turned around, and froze when he saw Canada.

"A-Matthew," he stammered. "H-how long have you been there?"

"As long as you, eh," Canada whispered. "Do you think someone was threatening Professor Quirrell?"

"I-I'm sure everything's fine," said Harry, though his expression said the exact opposite. "I'm heading back to the library. See you around, Matthew." He hurried off in the direction of the library.

Canada frowned, staring after him. Harry still wasn't telling him about the Stone. They were friends, right? Why were Harry, Ron and Hermione leaving Canada and America out of this? They were much better equipped to deal with someone trying to steal the Stone, and even if the three humans didn't know about that fact, it didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on. Whoever it was that was trying to steal the Stone (Canada was still giving Snape the benefit of the doubt) had just gotten Quirrell to tell them how to get past his defense.

All in all, things were getting bad, and Canada was worried that he wouldn't be able to help his friends when they needed it most.

**A/N: Woot, house elves. I've had the idea of Canada going to the kitchens to give them his maple syrup since almost the beginning. It's nice to finally use it. Here, everyone, have hugs before I forget. \(^-^)/ As you can see, Angst!America had vanished back into the ether. Yay for cheerfulness. NEXT CHAPTER: Harry and Co. have detention in the Forbidden Forest. See you all next time!**


	25. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER 24: THE FORBIDDEN FOREST**

The following morning's breakfast had both a pleasant and unpleasant surprise. The pleasant surprise came when Harry took a bite of his pancakes. _This is even more delicious than usual! _Before he knew it he'd devoured an entire plateful. He looked at Ron, Alfred and Hermione. "Have any of you tried the pancakes today?" he asked. "They're really good." Curious, the others placed a pancake on their plates, poured on some maple syrup, and started eating. Harry could tell from the way their eyes widened that they'd found it just as delicious as he had.

Alfred was the one to offer an explanation once he'd practically inhaled his breakfast. He dipped a finger in the syrup container (earning glares from the more hygienic Gryffindors) and stuck it in his mouth. He exclaimed, "Yo, this is Matt's syrup!" He ran over to the Hufflepuff table to talk with his brother. Harry, Ron and Hermione barely had time to exchange confused looks when he ran back. "Matt says he went down to the kitchens and got them to start using his special syrup. He thought we could do with some cheering up." Harry looked over at the Hufflepuff table. If he squinted, he could see Matthew there, looking back at him. Harry gave him a grin and a thumbs up. Matthew smiled back.

Then the unpleasant surprise arrived in the form of notes delivered to Harry, Alfred, Hermione and Neville. They were all the same:

_Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr Filch in the entrance hall._

_ Professor McGonagall_

Harry had forgotten they still had detentions to do in the furore over the points they'd lost. He half expected Hermione to complain that this was a whole night of revision lost, but she didn't say a word. Like Harry, she felt they deserved what they'd got. Alfred didn't feel the same and as soon as he'd read the last word he started complaining.

At eleven o'clock that night they said goodbye to Ron in the common-room and went down to the entrance hall with Neville. Filch was already there – and so was Malfoy. Harry had also forgotten that Malfoy had detention too.

"Follow me," said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside. "I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" he said, leering at them. Alfred chuckled under his breath for some reason. "Oh yes… hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me… it's just a pity they let the old punishments die out… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed… Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do." For some reason Alfred had continued giggling throughout Filch's entire monologue, muttering something about not realizing the caretaker was into that kind of thing. Harry didn't get it, but then again he didn't get many things his friend did.

They marched off across the dark grounds. Neville kept sniffing. Harry wondered what their punishment was going to be. It must be something really horrible, or Filch wouldn't be sounding so delighted. The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Harry could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started." Harry's heart rose; if they were going to be working with Hagrid it wouldn't be so bad.

His relief must have showed in his face, because Filch said, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy – it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

At this, Neville let out a little moan, Alfred's face lit up with joy, and Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks. "The forest?" he repeated, and he didn't sound quite as cool as usual. "We can't go in there at night – there's all sorts of things in there – werewolves, I heard."

Neville clutched the sleeve of Alfred's robe and made a choking noise. Alfred was practically bouncing for joy. "We get to fight werewolves? Sweet!" Filch didn't seem to know what to say to that. None of them did. Usually when people heard they might have to fight werewolves, their response wasn't excitement.

Hagrid came striding towards them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder. "Abou' time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Alfred, Hermione?"

"All right? Dude, I'm totally psyched! Let's go kick some werewolf a-"

"Ignore him," said Filch coldly. "I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid, they're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch. "For what's left of them," he added nastily, and he turned and started back towards the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy now turned to Hagrid. "I'm not going in that forest," he said, and Harry was pleased to hear the note of panic in his voice.

Alfred struck what he probably thought of as a heroic pose. "Have no fear, the hero will protect you all, even stupid stinky Slytherins with stupid names like you!" Malfoy looked nonplussed at this.

"Yeh're goin' in if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

"But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be writing lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd-"

"- tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Writin' lines! What good' that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on!"

"Yeah, go on, if you're chicken!" said Alfred. He started imitating a chicken. Malfoy didn't move. He looked at Hagrid and Alfred furiously but then dropped his gaze. Alfred ceased his imitation, grinning.

"Right then," said Hagrid. "Now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment." He led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest. "Look there," said Hagrid. "See that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Malfoy, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

"Then we give it the right hook of justice!" answered Alfred, punching the air with what actually looked like a pretty mean right hook.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid, slightly deflating Alfred. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least."

"I want Fang," said Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.

"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid. "So me, Harry an' Hermione'll go one way an' Draco, Alfred, Neville an' Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practise now – Alfred, try ter tone it down a bit – that's it – an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh – so, be careful – let's go."

*meeting with centaurs with no changes from the book*

"Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!"

"You two wait here!" Hagrid shouted. "Stay on the path, I'll come back for yeh!" They heard him crashing away through the undergrowth and stood looking at each other, very scared, until they couldn't hear anything but the rustling of leaves around them.

"You don't think they've been hurt, do you?" whispered Hermione.

"I don't care if Malfoy has, and Alfred can take care of himself, but if something's got Neville… It's our fault he's here in the first place." The minutes dragged by. Their ears seemed sharper than usual. Harry's seemed to be picking up every sigh of the wind, every cracking twig. What was going on? Where were the others?

At last, a great crunching noise announced Hagrid's return. Alfred, Malfoy, Neville and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed, had sneaked up behind Neville and grabbed him for a joke. Neville had panicked and sent up the sparks. Alfred had punched Malfoy in retribution, which explained the black eye that seemed to be forming.

"We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you three were makin'. Right, we're changin' groups – Neville, you stay with me an' Hermione, Harry, you go with Fang an' these idiots. I'm sorry," Hagrid added in a whisper. "But he'll have a harder time frightenin' you, an' we've gotta get this done."

So Harry set off into the heart of the forest with Malfoy, Alfred and Fang. Alfred was obviously trying to be stealthy, meaning that he was running behind trees, crouching a lot, and trying to emulate a ninja from a movie. At least he was being quiet. They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

"Look –" he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy. Alfred crept back over from the tree he'd dodged behind. Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer. It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves. Glancing over at Alfred, Harry could see murder in his eyes. Harry was very glad that anger wasn't directed at him.

Harry had taken one step towards it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered… then, out of the shadows, a hodded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Alfred, Malfoy and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, it lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.

"AAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

"FEEL THE RIGHTEOUS RIGHT HOOK OF JUSTICE, BAD GUY!"

Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted with Fang while Alfred charged at the hooded figure. It raised its head and looked right at Harry – unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It seemed to be ignoring Alfred, which was a feat that usually required diligent practice. It got to its feet and came swiftly towards Harry – he couldn't move for fear.

Then a pain pierced his head like he'd never felt before, it was as though his scar was on fire – half-blinded, he staggered backwards. He heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped clean over him, charging at the figure. Alfred was still yelling about justice and heroes. The pain in Harry's head was so bad he fell to his knees. It took a minute or two to pass. When he looked up, the figure and Alfred had gone. A centaur was standing over him, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

"Are you all right?" said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet.

"Yes – thank you – what _was _that? And where's Alfred?"

The centaur didn't answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar which stood out, livid, on Harry's forehead. "You are the Potter boy," he said. "You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not save at this time – especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way."

Harry remained where he was. "What happened to Alfred? Is he okay?"

The centaur continued staring at him. "I am not certain. The other boy was well enough to chase after that… thing… That is all I know." Noticing Harry's expression, he added, "I doubt he will be able to catch up to that creature. He will most likely lose track of it and be found by Hagrid." _At least it's a better answer than 'Mars is bright tonight'. _Harry got up and approached the centaur. "My name is Firenze," he added, as he lowered himself on to his front legs so that Harry could clamber on to his back.

*skipping past another centaur conversation and some plot exposition*

"Do you mean," Harry croaked. "That was _Vol-_"

"Harry! Harry, are you all right?" Hermione was running towards them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her.

"I'm fine," said Harry, hardly knowing what he was saying. "The unicorn's dead, Hagrid, it's in the clearing back there. Alfred ran off to look for whatever did it." Hagrid growled something unintelligible that probably included swearing.

"This is where I leave you," Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn and find Alfred. "You are safe now." Harry slid off his back. "Good luck, Harry Potter," said Firenze. "The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times." He turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harry shivering behind him.

**A/N: Oh, noes, plot advancement! I feel kind of bad about skipping over most of the centaur stuff, but there really wasn't anything I could add to it without America around. If you want to know what happens, let me sum it up: 'Mars is bright tonight'. There you are, now have a hug. \(^-^)/ We're nearing the end, guys. I think I'm going to start a countdown of how many pages are left in the book. Current Page Countdown: 34. Reviews are to me what maple syrup is to Canada. NEXT CHAPTER: America gets tired of being left out. See you all next time!**


	26. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER 25: THE HERO RETURNS**

America looked around the forest. Where had that villainous villain gone? It was right there a second ago! Now there seemed to be no trace of it. He was the hero! He was supposed to defeat the bad guy! Frustrated, he punched a nearby tree, cracking the wood and getting a handful of splinters. "OW!" He shook his hand, trying to dislodge the bits of wood stuck in it, and failing. It was too dark for him to see anything, so he couldn't pull them out. But that was okay! The hero could withstand a few pieces of wood! That just made him more heroic! He just really wished he'd taken a lantern or something.

His heroic grunt of pain must have been heard, because he heard great, crashing footsteps behind him, and the light of a lantern permeated the area. "There yeh are, Alfred! Are yeh alrigh'?"

America turned around. Of course it was Hagrid. He didn't know anyone else who had such noisy footsteps. He grinned, pointing his thumb at himself. "Of course I am, dude! I'm the hero!"

Hagrid looked at his splinter-filled, bleeding hand. "Bein' a hero don't mean yeh can't get hurt, Alfred. C'mon, let's head back an' get tha' looked at."

America stared at him. "What? But that unicorn-killer guy is totally still out there, dude! We have to get them!"

"Oh, no, we don't." Hagrid grabbed him by the collar before he could run off again and started dragging him away. "Yer friends are worried sick about yeh, and no first-year would be able ter take down that thing."

"But I'm-" America cut himself off before he could reveal anything. He hadn't actually thought of how Harry and Hermione and Neville would be feeling. They were probably really worried, huh? "Oh, fiiiiine. But I'm still not cool with letting that dude go!" Hagrid released him and he started walking under his own power. He decided that now was as good a time as any to start pulling out those splinters, since he had a source of light to work with now.

By the time they reached the others, America's hand was fully healed. Would that be suspicious? Nah, Hagrid was the only one who'd seen it, and hopefully he hadn't gotten a good look at it. Harry, Hermione, Neville and Draco Malfoy (hehe, stupid name) all looked up when he and Hagrid returned. Hermione got up from the rock she'd been sitting on and ran over to hug America.

"Oh, thank goodness you're all right! We were all so worried!" Then she stepped back and put on her 'you broke the rules and I'm going to lecture you about it' look. "What were you thinking, running off like that?! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? That thing killed a unicorn, it would have no trouble killing you! Even if it hadn't, if it weren't for Hagrid you probably would have gotten eaten by a troll or something. Or-"

"Yo, dude, calm down!" America interrupted. "I'm fine! Sheesh, you're so high-strung."

Harry and Neville had come over by this point as well. "What happened to V- that thing?" Harry asked.

"I dunno, dude! I was chasing it and all ready to deliver the righteous right-hook of justice, but then it just vanished! It probably got scared off because it realized who was chasing it." _Don't think I didn't notice that slip of the tongue, dude. You know something. But there's no way I'm asking about it in front of Malfoy._

"All right, all right, tha's enough, he can tell yeh the story later." Hagrid pushed the others away and looked at America. "Let's take a look at tha' hand."

"What hand? Did you get hurt?" Neville asked, eyes shining with worry.

America held up his good-as-new hand. "Dudes, I'm fine! I got some splinters when I punched a tree, but I pulled 'em out and I'm all good now!"

Hagrid stared at the hand in disbelief. "Some splinters?! I thought yeh were holdin' a porcupine at first!"

America gave a shrug. "I dunno, I guess I've always healed quickly." _Well, it's the truth. No need to tell them exactly why. _ He yawned. "Yo, Hagrid, can we head back to the castle now? I'm pooped."

Hagrid was still eying him, but relented. "All righ'. Yeh all must be tired. Let's head back."

And so they did. America spent the trip telling everyone the story of his daring chase through the woods. He added a few embellishments to make things interesting. After all, just running after a robed figure for a few minutes before losing track of them was kind of boring, but running after it and coming across a dragon, a troll and a sasquatch was way more interesting!

When they finally reached the common-room, Neville bid them goodnight and headed straight to bed. Ron was asleep in a chair near the fire. Aww, he'd been waiting for them! He was such an awesome friend. He shouted something about Quidditch fouls when Harry roughly shook him awake. Harry looked at America. "Alfred, aren't you tired? You should probably head up to bed."

America could tell when someone was trying to get rid of him so they could have a private conversation. And, like he usually did, he completely ignored it. "Meh, I can stay up a while. I still haven't heard what happened to you after I ran off." He sat down in a chair and rested his chin on his hands in a pose of expectancy.

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged aggrieved looks. "Are you sure?" asked Harry. "It wasn't nearly as interesting as what happened to you, and you're the one who suggested we head back to the castle because you were tired."

"Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere right now, dude," said America. "The only thing I'm tired of is being left out of the loop. Now tell us what happened!"

The three exchanged another look, this one seeming to say, 'we're going to regret this, but it looks like we don't have a choice'. "Fine," said Harry, and he launched into the story of what had happened in the forest.

It seemed that Harry couldn't sit down. He was pacing up and down in front of the fire, and he was shaking. Judging from the story he'd told, he had good reason to be. "Snape wants the stone for Voldemort… and Voldemort's waiting in the forest… and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich…"

"Stop saying the name!" said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them. _Seriously, what is up with all this 'You-Know-Who' bullcrap? It's Voldemort. Vol-de-mort. It's not hard to say!_ But America didn't say any of this out loud. He didn't want to interrupt Harry now that he'd started letting him into the loop again.

Harry wasn't listening, anyway. "Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done… Bane was furious… he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen… They must show that Voldemort's coming back… Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me… I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

"_Will you stop saying the name!"_ Ron hissed.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Harry went on feverishly. "Then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off… Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

Hermione looked pretty freaked out, but she had a word of comfort. "Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

America raised a hand, which had to be a first in this school. "Uh, Harry, dude, I have a question."

Harry seemed to have snapped out of his monologue. "Yes? What is it?"

"Why the hell weren't you going to tell me this?" The three of them stared at him as he continued, "I'm your friend, right? And you're getting involved in adventures and figuring out how that Moldyshorts guy is going to return and kill Harry and all this stuff and you weren't going to tell me any of it! You couldn't even be bothered to tell me that Quirrell told Snape how to get past his defense- yes, I know about that," he added when they all gave him shocked looks. "Matthew told me. But that doesn't change the fact that you didn't trust either of us enough to tell us about it!"

"Alfred…" said Harry. "It's not that we don't trust you. It's just that we… didn't want you to worry. It seemed like you didn't want to be involved, so we-"

"DIDN'T WANT TO BE INVOLVED?!" The others winced at America's volume. "Of course I want to be involved! I'm just worried about you guys getting involved and getting hurt! But since you all seem determined to completely ignore any survival instinct, I suppose you're getting involved no matter what. And if that's the case, count me in!" They were staring at him again. "What? You thought the hero would let his friends waltz into danger without him?"

Harry smiled. "I suppose not. Thank you, Alfred." He yawned and looked out the window. "We should really be getting to bed if we want any sleep at all. G'night."

They all wished each other good night and went off to their beds. America felt rather pleased with himself as he jumped into his bed, too exhausted to change into his PJs. Sleepwear was overrated, anyway, he thought as he started drifting off. _I'm just happy to be involved again. I should tell Canada about this, huh? Then we can all be heroes together… _He went to sleep and dreamed of himself, Canada, Harry, Ron and Hermione all in superhero outfits, running around beating up criminals and helping old ladies cross the street.

**A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ Yay, now I don't need to come up with indirect ways for America and Canada to find out stuff. And look, America's fine and didn't get eaten by werewolves or anything! More yay! Pages Left: 32. I only got through about a page of the book today. I guess that's what happens when you're adding stuff. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada has exams and it turns out Hagrid messed up. See you all next time!**


	27. Chapter 26

**CHAPTER 26: KEEP CALM AND EAT SYRUP**

Canada wasn't worried about the end-of-year exams. He really wasn't. He'd always gotten good marks on his work, he'd gone through all of his notes, and even if he failed everything and wasn't allowed back, it wasn't nearly as much of a big deal for him as it was for his classmates. No, if he'd only had exams to worry about, he would have found the five days before them downright pleasant. But any illusion of relaxation was shattered when America took him aside after breakfast and told him just how high the chances of Voldemort returning and murdering Harry were. That put a bit of a damper on things.

Canada wasn't nearly as much of a worrywart as his brother made him out to be, but the imminent return of a Dark Lord had left him understandably stressed out. Harry felt the same, even more understandably, since he would probably be the first casualty. He kept rubbing his scar with a pained look on his face, jumping at sudden noises, and according to America he was having trouble sleeping. Apart from suggesting he have more syrup, Canada really didn't know how to help him. America, Ron and Hermione weren't much of a help. Ron and Hermione were so busy with revision they simply didn't have the brain space to worry about something as big as Voldemort. And any time America was asked for advice, that advice would always be to punch something in the face, whether that something be Voldemort, Snape, Fluffy, or Malfoy (the latter just because he really liked punching Malfoy).

When the actual exams arrived, Canada was almost relieved to have something to distract himself. The sweltering heat made his brain feel fuzzy, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers, but he felt he did reasonably well. The practical exams were actually almost enjoyable; for Charms they had to make a pineapple tap-dance, for Transfiguration they had to turn a mouse into the prettiest snuff-box possible, and Potions… well, at least it was cool down in the dungeons.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. Canada was pretty sure he was the only one who found the subject interesting. He would admit that Professor Binns didn't provide the most engaging classes, but it was fun to read through _A History of Magic_ and think 'oh, yeah, I remember that' or 'oh, yeah, I remember so-and-so mentioning that'. He'd also taken up the hobby of seeing where Muggle and wizard history intertwined and affected each other. He doubted many others had even bothered looking; wizard historians thought Muggle history wasn't worth reading about, and Muggle historians didn't know about magic in the first place. But the similarities were there if you looked hard enough. Even with all of that, though, he still cheered with the others when the exam was over. _Nothing personal, History of Magic, but now I'm free for a week._

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione, as they joined the crowds flocking out into the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learnt about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager." Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterwards, but America and Ron said thise made them feel ill, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. Kumajayjay wandered over to the lake, where the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows. _Poor Kumaginger. He really hates the heat…_

"Freedom feels great, dudes," America sighed happily, stretching out on the grass. "Yo, Harry, cheer up. We still got a week 'til we find out we failed."

Harry was rubbing his forehead again. "I wish I knew what this _means_!" he burst out angrily. "My scar keeps hurting – it's happened before, but never as often as this."

"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested.

"I'm not ill," said Harry. "I think it's a warning… it means danger's coming…"

Canada couldn't get worked up. The heat was making him sleepy. "Harry, you should relax, eh. The Stone should be safe as long as Professor Dumbledore's around. We have no proof that Snape found out how to get past Fluffy – he nearly had his leg ripped off, I don't think he'll try again so soon. And the day Hagrid lets Dumbledore down is the day Arthur makes scones that don't send you to the hospital."

Harry nodded and smiled. "Is Arthur really such a bad cook?" Both Canada and America nodded, haunted expressions on their faces. "Still, I feel like I've forgotten something… something important…"

"That's just the exams," said Hermione. "I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we'd done that one." Harry didn't look entirely reassured. His bright green eyes followed an owl flying towards the castle. Suddenly those eyes widened and he jumped to his feet.

"Where're you going?" said Ron sleepily.

"I've just thought of something," said Harry. He had gone white. "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now." He set off towards Hagrid's hut. Canada, America, Ron and Hermione all got up and hurried after him. Kumadora noticed his master's departure, but couldn't be bothered to follow him and simply continued his swim.

"Why?" panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope. "That what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?"

"What are you on about?" said Ron, but Harry, sprinting across the grounds towards the forest, didn't answer. Canada's brain was still foggy from the heat, but he felt as if it was on the precipice of the cliff of horrid realization.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up and he was shelling peas into a large bowl. "Hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Yes, please," said Ron, but Harry cut across him. He seemed to be on a mission.

"No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually. "He wouldn' take his cloak off." He saw the five of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows. "It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head – that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up." Canada's brain was starting to teeter over the edge of the cliff and he felt rather clammy.

Harry sank down next to the bowl of peas. "What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. "Yeah… he asked what I did, an' I told him I was a gamekeeper here… He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after… so I told him… an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon… an' then… I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks… Let's see… yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted… but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home… So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…"

"And did he- did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Harry asked. He was obviously trying to keep his voice calm, but he couldn't hide the slight tremor that betrayed… fear? Suddenly Canda's brain went tumbling down the cliff as the penny dropped. _Oh, maple, please don't tell me he…_

"Well – yeah – how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep –" Hagrid suddenly looked horrified. "I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey – where're yeh goin'?"

Canada, America, Harry, Ron and Hermione didn't speak to each other at all until they came to a halt in the entrance hall, which seemed blessedly cool after the grounds. "Dude, I know Hagrid's cool, but that was just stupid," said America. Canada had to agree.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry. "Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak – it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?" They looked around, as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. They had never been told where Dumbledore lived, nor did they know anyone who had been sent to see him. "We'll just have to-" Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

"What are you three doing inside?" It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, rather bravely, since the look the Professor was giving them made Canada wish he had Kumatintin to hide behind.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated, as though this was a very fishy thing to want to do. "Why?"

Harry swallowed audibly. "It's sort of a secret," he said. He seemed to shrink as Professor McGongall's nostrils flared.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once." Canada's stomach plummeted.

"He's _gone_?" said Harry frantically. "_Now_?"

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time-"

"But this is, like, super serious, dude!"

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Jones?"

"Look," said Harry, apparently throwing caution to the winds. "Professor – it's about the Philosopher's Stone-"

Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn't that. The books she was carrying tumbled out of her arms but she didn't pick them up. "How do you know-?" she spluttered.

"Professor I think – I _know_ – that Sn – that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

She eyed Harry with a mixture of shock and suspicion. "Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said finally. "I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

"But Professor-"

"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," she said shortly. She bent down and gathered up the fallen books. Canada hurried forward to help her. "Thank you, Jones. I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine."

None of them took her advice. "It's tonight," said Harry, once he was sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."

"But what can we-" Hermione gasped. America, Canada, Harry and Ron wheeled around.

Snape was standing there, ominous as ever in his black robes. "Good afternoon," he said smoothly. They stared at him.

"Dude, didn't anyone ever tell you it's totally not cool to sneak up on people?" exclaimed America.

Snape ignored him. "You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd, twisted smile.

"We were-" Harry began, and Canada got the feeling he didn't know what he was going to say.

"You want to be more careful," said Snape. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can they?" Canada, as always, seemed to be completely ignored. Harry flushed, and they turned to go back outside (Canada needed to get Kumagaga back, anyways), but Snape called them back. "Be warned, Potter – any more night-time wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you." He strode off in the direction of the staff room, robes flapping in a way that left no doubt in Canada's mind as to why America always called him a 'bat-dude'.

Out on the stone steps, Harry turned to the others. "Right, here's what we've got to do," he whispered urgently. "One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape – wait outside the staff room and follow him if he leaves it. Matthew, you'd better do that."

Canada blinked. "Eh? Why me?"

"Er, well," said Ron. "You're kind of… hard to notice."

Canada stared down at his shoes. "I know. All right, I'll do it. I just need to get Kumageorge first." He ran off to the lake, called for his polar bear, and after a quick exchange ("Who are you?" "I'm the guy who feeds you.") they headed back to the castle and took up their post outside the staff room. Canada whiled away the time thinking of excuses to make if he was caught. He could be there for a long time.

Not nearly as long a time as he might have thought, however, because it wasn't long until Snape came out. Much to the nation's surprise his black eyes focused on Canada immediately. "What are you doing here, Jones?" he sneered. "Do I have to take points from Gryffindor for loitering?"

"I-I'm not Alfred, I'm Matthew, eh," Canada stuttered. Why were all of these Professors so scary?

Snape's eyes narrowed, then seemed to relax slightly. "Oh, er, yes. Of course. What are you doing here?"

Canada tried to recall which excuse he'd settled on. "I was waiting for Professor Flitwick. I think I got a question wrong on the exam, and I-"

Snape interrupted him. "I'll go get him then." He disappeared back into the staff room. _ Oh, maple, this isn't going very well._

The Potions Master soon returned with Professor Flitwick in tow. It took the little Professor a few moments to see Canada. "You wanted to speak to me, Mr. Jones?" he squeaked.

"Um, yes. I think I messed up on question fourteen b, eh, and I was hoping-"

Flitwick interrupted him with a wave of his hand and leaned in close. "Oh, you have nothing to worry about," he whispered conspiratorially. "Don't tell anyone I said this, but you got a hundred percent. Much better than your brother." Canada perked up. He rarely said it out loud, but it always perked him up to know he had beaten America at something. He thanked Professor Flitwick and had walked around the corner before he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. He had a vague impression that Snape had left while he was speaking with Flitwick. _Oh, maple leaf. I guess I should tell the others. Maybe they're in the Gryffindor common-room? I'm pretty sure I heard someone mention it was on the seventh floor behind a portrait of some fat lady._

He made his way up to the seventh floor and located the portrait. "Password?" she demanded imperiously.

Uh-oh. "Um, actually, I just wanted to talk to my friends, eh," whispered Canada. "Could you ask them to come out or something, please?"

The Fat Lady sighed. "Oh, very well, but only because you were so polite." She walked out of the painting. America, Harry, Ron and Hermione all emerged a few seconds later, looking confused and worried.

"I'm sorry!" Canada said immediately. "Snape came out and saw me and asked what I was doing, so I told him I wanted to talk to Professor Flitwick, and then he actually got Flitwick and I had to ask him about my test and Snape slipped away while I was talking and I am very, very, very, very extremely sorry."

Harry patted him on the shoulder. "It's all right, Matthew. That just decides it, then, doesn't it?" They all stared at him. He was rather pale, but his eyes were glittering. "I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try and get to the Stone first."

America looked almost awed. "Dude, that is so heroic! You should totally be my sidekick!"

"You're mad!" said Ron, not nearly as happy.

"You can't!" said Hermione, also unhappy. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!"

"SO WHAT?" Harry shouted, his volume rivalling America's. "Don't you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! Haven't you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won't be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn't matter anymore, can't you see? D'you think he'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor win the house cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there. It's only dying a bit later than I would have done, because I'm never going over to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing any of you say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?" He glared at them all. Canada didn't know what to say to a speech like that.

"You're right, Harry," said Hermione in a small voice.

"I'll use the invisibility cloak," said Harry. "It's just lucky I got it back."

"But will it cover all five of us?" said Ron.

"I don't think I'll need it," said Canada. "Like you said, I'm pretty hard to notice."

"Okay, four of us then."

"F-four of us?" said a disbelieving Harry.

America rolled his eyes. "Come on, dude, did you really think we'd let you do this alone? There's no way I'm being left out of another adventure!"

"Of course not," said Hermione briskly. "How do you think you'd get to the Stone without us? I'd better go and look through my books, there might be something useful…"

"But if we get caught, you four will be expelled too."

"Meh, I'm not worried about that," said America. "It's not such a big deal. It just means I can catch up on all the TV I've missed here. I mean, seriously, dudes, it's ridiculous that they don't have any TV here. Also, that speech Harry made makes me want to watch Star Wars again."

**A/N: Hello, beautiful readers! Have a hug. \(^-^)/ I would have published a chapter yesterday, but Microsoft Word decided to glitch out and I lost all my progress. Ah, well. I like to think that this is better than what I would have written yesterday. Thank you all for your reviews and favourites and alerts and views and stuff. They make me very happy. This chapter ended up being quite a bit longer than I thought it would, but I like to think of that as a good thing. And seriously, that speech Harry makes belongs in Star Wars or something. Pages Left: 26. The end keeps on coming closer... NEXT CHAPTER: Harry and co. go through the trapdoor. See you all next time!**


	28. Chapter 27

**CHAPTER 27: THROUGH THE TRAPDOOR**

After dinner the Harry, Ron, Hermione and Alfred sat nervously apart in the common-room. Matthew was waiting outside the portrait. Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to Harry any more, after all. This was the first night he hadn't been upset by it. Hermione was skimming through all her notes, hoping to come across one of the enchantments they were about to try and break. Alfred was almost vibrating from held-in excitement. At least he seemed to realize one of his heroic outbursts wouldn't be helpful right about now. Harry and Ron didn't talk much. Both of them were thinking about what they were about to do.

Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed. "Better get the cloak," Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left, stretching and yawning. Harry ran upstairs to their dark dormitory. He pulled out the cloak and then his eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. He pocketed it to use on Fluffy – he didn't feel much like singing.

He ran back down to the common-room. "We'd better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all four of us – if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own-"

"What are you doing?" said a voice from the corner of the room. At first Harry thought Matthew had somehow gotten into the common-room, but then Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad, who looked as though he'd been making another bid for freedom.

"Nothing!" said Alfred in the most unintentionally suspicious voice Harry had ever heard. "Nothing at all, Neville dude!" Harry hurriedly hid the cloak behind his back. Alfred had begun whistling innocently.

Neville stared at their guilty faces. "You're going out again," he said.

"No, no, no," said Hermione, as Alfred's whistling increased in volume. "No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?" Harry looked at the grandfather clock by the door. They couldn't afford to waste any more time, Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.

"You can't go out," said Neville. "You'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble." Alfred's whistling became even louder. _Alfred, just whistling louder doesn't make you less suspicious!_ Harry thought to himself, but saying that out loud at the moment would just be even more suspicious.

"You don't understand," said Harry. "This is important."

But Neville was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate. "I won't let you do it," he said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole.

"_Neville_," Ron exploded. "Get away from that hole and don't be an idiot-"

"Don't you call me an idiot!" said Neville. "I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!"

"Yeah, dude, but not heroes like _us_," said Alfred, having abandoned his 'innocent' whistling. "Neville, you totally have no idea what you're doing." He took a step forward and Neville dropped Trevor the toad, who leapt out of sight.

"Go on then, try and hit me!" said Neville, raising his fists. "I'm ready!"

Alfred clearly wasn't expecting this. "Wha- seriously? Dude, come on, this isn't funny. Just get out of the way."

Harry turned to Hermione. "_Do something_," he said desperately.

Hermione stepped forward. "Neville," she said. "I'm really, really sorry about this." She raised her wand. "_Petrificus Totalus_!" she cried, pointing it at Neville. Neville's arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and would have fallen flat on his face if Alfred hadn't caught him. Neville's jaws were jammed together so he couldn't speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.

"What the hell did you do?" Alfred demanded.

"It's the full Body-Bind," said Hermione miserably. "Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry."

"We had to, Neville, no time to explain," said Harry.

"You'll understand later, Neville," said Ron.

Alfred gently laid Neville down on the floor. "Sorry, dude, but this is kind of a life-or-death situation." They stepped over his prone body and pulled on the invisibility cloak. But leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor didn't feel like a very good omen. They all nearly jumped out of their skin when they spotted Matthew sitting by the portrait, stroking his polar bear.

Harry lifted the invisibility cloak enough to wave at him. "Let's go. Sorry there isn't enough room for you under here."

The Hufflepuff stood up and walked over, the little white bear at his heel. Both of them had a determined glint in their eye. "Don't worry. I'll be fine." Harry let the cloak fully cover himself and set off.

But leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor and having one of their number following them in plain sight didn't seem like a very good omen. In their nervous state, every statue's shadow looked like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on them. At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs. Norris skulking near the top. "C'mon, dudes, let's kick her," Alfred whispered. Ron nodded in agreement, but Harry shook his head. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs. Norris turned her lamp-like eyes on them, but didn't do anything. Those same eyes passed over Matthew without pausing, as if she couldn't see him. He really wasn't lying when he said he didn't need the cloak.

They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip. "Who's there?" he said suddenly as they climbed towards him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you a ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?" Harry slapped a hand over Alfred's mouth before he could start screaming. Peeves rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them. "Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."

Harry had a sudden idea. "Peeves," he said, in a hoarse whisper. "The Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible."

Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself on time and hovered about a foot off the stairs. "So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr Baron, sir," he said greasily. "My mistake, my mistake – I didn't see you – of course I didn't, you're invisible – forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harry. "Stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you." And he scooted off.

Alfred let out a sigh of relief and Harry felt it was safe to remove his hand from his mouth. "That was pretty sweet, dude," he whispered.

"Uh… Alfred…" squeaked Ron. "Would you… mind letting me… go now?"

"Huh?" Alfred looked at Ron and realized he'd latched onto him and started crushing his lungs at some point during the encounter. "Oh, sorry dude! I totally forgot my own strength." They had to wait a few moments for Ron to catch his breath. A few moments after that, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor – and the door was already ajar.

"Looks like Snape already got past Fluffy, eh," whispered Matthew. Everyone jumped. He'd been so quiet they'd forgotten he was there. Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all five of them what was facing them.

Underneath the cloak, Harry turned to the other three. "If you want to go back, I won't blame you," he said. "You can take the cloak, I won't need it now."

"HA! Dude, that was pretty funny," said Alfred.

"Don't be stupid," said Ron.

"We're coming," said Hermione.

"Who are you?" asked the polar bear.

"I'm Matthew, and we're going to get the Stone."

Harry pushed the door open. As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn't see them. "What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.

"Looks like a harp," said Ron. "Snape must have left it there."

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Harry. "Well, here goes…"

"I believe in you, dude!" encouraged Alfred. Harry put Hagrid's flute to his lips and blew. It wasn't really a tune, but from the first note the beast's eyes began to droop. Harry hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased – it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

"Keep playing," Ron warned Harry as they slipped out of the cloak and crept towards the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads. "I think we'll be able to pull the door open," said Ron, peering over the dog's back. "Who wants to go first?"

"ME! MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEME PICK ME!" Fluffy twitched dangerously at Alfred's shouts, but remained asleep.

"All right, you can go first," said Ron. Grinning, Alfred jumped over the dog's legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.

"What can you see?" Hermione said anxiously.

"Absolutely nothing!" said Alfred happily. "It's complete darkness, dudes, and I don't see a ladder! Looks like we'll have to jump! Isn't this awesome?" He gave them all a wave. "See you on the other side! GERONIMO!" He leaped down into the darkness. Busy as he was with the flute, the only way Harry could show his exasperation was by rolling his eyes, which he did.

Matthew crept over to the trapdoor. "Are you okay?" he called down. They all waited with bated breath for a response. What if Alfred was seriously hurt? What if he was…

"DUDES, I'M DOING GREAT!" Everyone except the flute-playing Harry let out a sigh of relief. "I LANDED ON SOMETHING SQUISHY! C'MON, LET'S GO!" Matthew was the next to go, picking up his polar bear and jumping in after his brother.

Harry, who was still playing the flute, waved at Ron to get his attention and pointed at himself. "You want to go next? All right. Give the flute to Hermione so she can keep him asleep." Harry handed the flute over. In the few seconds' silence, the dog growled and twitched, but the moment Hermione began to play, it fell back into its deep sleep. Harry went over to the trapdoor and lowered himself until he was hanging on by his fingertips. He had no idea how the twins had been brave enough to leap in. With one last look at his friends, Harry let go.

Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down, down and – FLUMP! With a funny, muffled sort of thump he landed on something soft. He sat up and felt around, his eyes not used to the gloom. He felt as though he was sitting on some sort of plant. He moved out of the way so that Ron didn't land on top of him, instead landing sprawled next to him. The distant music stopped. There was a loud bark from the dog, but Hermione had already jumped. She landed on Harry's other side.

"All right, Team Hero has all arrived!" shouted Alfred.

"We must be miles under the school, eh," whispered Matthew.

"Lucky this plant thing's here, really," said Ron.

"_Lucky!_" shrieked Hermione. "Look at you all!" She leapt up and struggled towards a damp wall. She had to struggle because the moment she had landed, the plant had started to twist snakelike tendrils around her ankles. As for Harry and Ron, their legs had already been bound tightly in long creepers without their noticing. Alfred and Matthew were even worse, with the plant reaching their abdomens.

Hermione had managed to free herself before the plant got a firm grip on her. Now she watched in horror as Harry, Ron and Alfred fought to pull the plant off them, but the more they strained against it, the tighter and faster the plant wound around them. Only Matthew had remained calm and unmoving, and he seemed to be doing the best out of the four of them. He tried to say something, but the creepers were curled tightly enough on his abdomen that he couldn't get the air required.

"Stop moving!" Hermione ordered them. "I know what this is – it's Devil's Snare!"

"Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help," snarled Ron, leaning back, trying to stop the plant curling around his neck. Alfred was almost completely covered in the stuff.

"Shut up, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!" said Hermione.

"Well, hurry up, I can't breathe!" Harry gasped, wrestling with it as it curled around his chest. Matthew had started struggling as well, trying to free himself as he stared in horror at the twitching green mass that was all that could be seen of Alfred.

"Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare… What did Professor Sprout say? It likes the dark and the damp –"

"So light a fire!" Harry choked.

"Yes – of course – but there's no wood!" Hermione cried, wringing her hands.

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?" Ron bellowed. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"

"Oh, right!" said Hermione, and she whipped out her wand, waved it, muttered something and sent a jet of the same bluebell flames she had used on Snape on the plant. In a matter of seconds, the boys felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unravelled itself from their bodies and they were able to pull free. Except for Alfred, who wasn't moving.

Matthew dragged him over to the wall where Hermione was standing. They all followed, staring anxiously at Alfred. "Is he…" said Harry, not willing to finish the question.

Matthew checked Alfred's pulse. "He's still alive," he said, much to their relief. "Devil's Snare gets tighter the more you struggle against it. I tried to warn you, but I couldn't breathe. And Alfred's always been a fighter." He stared down sadly at his brother. "Well, I guess I'll have to eat those hamburgers all by myself."

Alfred's eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright, looking around wildly. "HAMBURGERS? Where?" They all laughed. It was more of a release of pent-up emotion than an expression of amusement.

Matthew chuckled. "Sorry, bro, I just needed you to wake up, and that was the first thing that came to mind."

Alfred stuck out his tongue at him. "Bleh. You suck, dude. I really want a hamburger now."

**A/N: They're through the trapdoor! Yay! Hugs for everyone! \(^-^)/ In response to some reviews I'm getting *coughBerlincough*: I try to update this story every day. It's good writing practice, and I'm glad to see you all appreciate it. Pages Left: 20 1/2. We're getting closer and closer to the end, guys. NEXT CHAPTER: Dealing with more challenges America-style. See you all next time!**


	29. Chapter 28

**CHAPTER 28: TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS**

America took the lead as they headed along the stone passageway that was the only way out of the room full of Demon's Flare or whatever that plant had been. The others had been a bit leery of having him continue with them after the very first trial (and ergo probably the easiest) knocked him out, but he refused to stay behind. He was a bit surprised that a plant of all things had managed to make him pass out, but he was the United States of America! He could do this no problem!

"Can you hear something?" Ron whispered. America listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

"Do you think it's a ghost?" said Harry.

Alfred blanched. "DUDE, DON'T SAY STUFF LIKE THAT!"

"I don't think it's a ghost, eh," whispered Canada. "It sounds like wings to me."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, it does sound like wings."

"There's light ahead – I can see something moving." They reached the end of the passageway and saw a really bright light. After the darkness of the passageway, America had to blink a few times before he could take in the room. It was what England would probably call a 'chamber' with a high arched ceiling. It was also full of birds. Across the room was a heavy-looking wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" said Ron.

"Probably," said America happily. "They don't look very tough. All right, chums, let's do this! LEEEEEERRROOOOOOY JEEEEEENKINSSS!" The nation sprinted to the other side of the room, expecting some sort of avian air-strike. He was very much disappointed when he reached the door untouched. He pulled at the handle, but it was locked. "OH, COME ON!" The others followed him. The humans tugged and heaved at the door, but it wouldn't budge, not even when Hermione tried her Alohamora charm.

While the trio struggled with the door, Canada turned to America. "Do you think you could kick it down?"

America let out an affronted noise and gestured to himself. "Bro, c'mon, do you really need to ask?" Ron kicked the door and let out a curse an eleven-year-old really shouldn't know.

A small smile tugged at Canada's mouth. "I suppose not." The smile vanished and was replaced by a worried frown. Jeez, why did Canada always have to be so worried about stuff? "Arthur probably won't approve, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Time is of the essence." He turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione and called quietly, "Guys, move out of the way. Alfred's going to try and force his way through."

The trio looked at them. "It's no use," said Hermione. "We've tried, but there's no way to-"

"Dude, that's 'cause you never tried an AMERICAN DOOR KICK!" At the last three words America kicked the door with all of his strength, sending it flying out of its hinges and landing several feet into the next room. _Wow, that door was pretty sturdy. Sturdier than England's, anyway._ He looked at Harry, Ron and Hermione. Man, he wished he had a camera. Their expressions were priceless. Striking a heroic pose, he pointed into the room and shouted, "ONWARDS!" And so the five of them (three of them looking very confused and getting the feeling they hadn't done that enchantment properly) marched into the next room.

It was shrouded in complete darkness, but as they stepped into it, someone must have flipped a light-switch or something because there was light. They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen. America and Canada let out groans. People seemed under the impression that military strategists were good at chess, but neither of them had ever found that remotely true. Soldiers didn't fight on an eight-by-eight grid, and none of them could only move diagonally.

"Now what do we do?" Harry whispered.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron. "We've got to play our way across the room."

Now that America looked he could see a door behind the white pieces. "Eff that, dude, I think it's time for another AMERICAN DOOR KICK!" But no sooner had he stepped on the board than all the white pawns drew their swords. He stepped back. "Yeesh, fine, fine, we'll do it your way!"

"So how do you think we should do this, eh," whispered Canada. "Do we have to be chessmen?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right." He walked up to a black night and put his hand out to touch the knight's horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground nad the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron. "Do we – er – have to join you to get across?" Te black knight nodded. Ron turned to the others. "This wants thinking about… I suppose we've got to take the place of five of the black pieces…" The others all stayed quiet, watching Ron think. Finally he said, "Now, don't be offended or anything, but none of you are that good at chess-"

"Dude, don't worry about it!" said America. "You're the chess-master. Give us your orders, sir!" He stood to attention and saluted.

"Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop, Hermione, you go next to him instead of that castle… and Alfred and Matthew can take the ones on the other side of the board."

"What about you?" asked Harry.

"I'm going to be a knight," said Ron. _Aw, man, I wanted to be a knight. _ In any case, the chess pieces seemed to have heard, because the bishops, castles and a knight all turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board leaving five spaces which they all took. America grabbed the castle while Matthew stepped onto the bishop's space.

"White always plays first in chess," said Ron, peering across the board. "Yes… look…" A white pawn had moved forward two squares. Ron started to direct the black pieces with all the authority of a general. America felt himself relax. He could pretend this was just another battlefield, albeit one with strange terrain that required very controlled movement. That made it a bit easier. Harry and Hermione were obviously nervous – he thought he could actually spot Harry's knees trembling – so America did his best to project confidence and optimism. When he offered one of them a grin they always smiled back.

The first casualty was their other knight. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, face down. The humans looked shaken by this show of brutality. America and Canada barely even blinked. At least there hadn't been any blood. Still, whenever one of the black pieces was taken (and quite a few were), America couldn't help but imagine what it would have looked like if it had been a human on the receiving end. The mental images weren't pleasant, to say the least. And they nearly came true when, twice, Ron only just noticed in time that America, Canada, Harry or Hermione were in danger. He himself darted around the board taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones. He was a pretty awesome general.

"We're nearly there," he muttered suddenly. "Let me think – let me think…" The white queen turned her creepily blank face towards him. "Yes…" said Ron softly, in a voice that made America's heart plummet. "It's the only way… I've got to be taken."

"NO!" America, Canada, Harry and Hermione all yelled in unison.

"That's chess!" snapped Ron. "You've got to make some sacrifices! I take one step forward and she'll take me – that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!" It was scary how few words you'd have to change in that little speech to make it about war.

"But-"

"Do you want to stop Snape or not?"

"Dude-"

"Look, if you don't hurry up, he'll already have the Stone!" There was nothing else for it. There were always sacrifices in battle. America just hoped this casualty wouldn't be a fatality. "Ready?" Ron called, his face pale but determined. "Here I go – now, don't hang around once you've won." He stepped forward and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard around the head with her stone arm and he crashed to the floor – Hermione screamed but held her position – the white queen dragged Ron off to one side. His eyes were shut and America thought he saw some blood, but if he squinted he thought he could also see the faint rise and fall of his chest. _Please be alive, dude._

A shaking Harry moved three spaces to the left and captured the king, winning them the game. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. America, Harry and Hermione were almost through the door when America realized they were missing something. He turned to see Canada kneeling next to Ron, checking his wounds. Kuma-whatever-his-name-was was sitting next to him, staring curiously at the scene.

"Bro, c'mon! Let's go!" Harry and Hermione turned at America's call and realized where Canada was.

"Matthew, we need to go," called Harry.

Canada looked up at them and shook his head. "He risked his life for us. The least I can do is make sure he doesn't lose it. You guys go on without me."

America, Harry and Hermione exchanged looks. America sighed. _Damn it. _"Fine, but don't blame me if you miss all the awesome tests, bro!" He waved goodbye to his brother and set off with Harry and Hermione.

"They'll be all right," said Harry, not convincing anyone. "What do you reckon's next?"

Hermione counted them off on her fingers. "We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare – maybe the birds were Flitwick? I'm not sure, I don't think we got through that the way it was intended – McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive – that leaves Quirrell's spell, and Snape's…"

They reached another door. "All right?" Harry whispered.

"Go on," said Hermione.

"Great! AMERICAN DOOR KICK!" America kicked it open. A smell on par with England's cooking filled their nostrils, making them all pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out cold with a bloody lump on its head. "Aw, man," groaned America. "Snape already beat it. Facing a troll again would have been fun."

Harry gaped at him as they stepped carefully over one of its massive legs. "You have a strange definition of fun, Alfred."

Harry pulled open the next door, depriving them of the opportunity to witness another American Door Kick. America was hoping to see something exciting, but instead there was just a table with seven weirdly-shaped bottles standing on it in a line. "I would've thought the bat-dude would have a scarier test," said America. They stepped over the threshold and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onwards. "Now that's more like it!"

**A/N: Whoo, semi-cliffhanger! Have a hug, everyone! \(^-^)/ Pages Left: 16. We're so close! I can almost taste it! It tastes like doughnuts! AMERICAN DOOR KICK! NEXT CHAPTER: Canada, Ron and Hermione run into Dumbledore. It'll probably be a short one. See you next time!**


	30. Chapter 29

**CHAPTER 29: THOSE LEFT BEHIND**

Canada was relieved to find that Ron's injury could have been far, far worse. He'd have to wait until the boy was awake to check for concussion, and then he should really be examined by a trained medical professional, but Canada was pretty sure he wouldn't die before any of that could happen. He tried to rip off a piece of his robe to use as a bandage, but that was much harder to do in real life than it was in the movies. There was nothing for it but to sit and wait.

Kumanero cocked his head. "Who are you?"

Canada sighed. Ah, well, the only person around was unconscious. "I'm Canada."

Kuma nodded. "Canada. I am sure they will be okay." Canada smiled at the bear. Even if they couldn't always remember each other's names, there was a definite bond between them. Canada couldn't be sure, but he suspected that that bond was what had kept Kumamori alive through several centuries and given him the gift of speech (if it was a gift). A few other nations had such connections – France had his Pierres, China his panda, Australia his koala, Prussia his Gilbird – and all those animals had lived for far longer than their usual lifespan. Almost none of them could speak, though. The only one he knew of apart from Kuma was Hana-tamago, Finland and Sweden's dog, though apparently that had been a one-time thing. So at least something Canada had was special.

Canada was pulled from his contemplation by the sound of footsteps. He looked over his shoulder and spotted Hermione walking over, looking very worried. Canada gave her his best reassuring smile. "The wound isn't too bad," he said. "We should still take him to Madam Pomfrey, though."

Hermione sighed in relief. "Good. Harry thinks he saw some brooms in the bird room, we can use those to get out once he wakes up."

Canada looked over at the door. Hermione seemed to be the only one who had come through. "Where's Alfred and Harry?"

Hermione looked close to tears, but maintained at least some of her composure as she said, "They went ahead. I wanted to go with them, I really did, but there was barely enough of the potion for one person. I have no idea how Alfred managed to get through the flames, but he seems to be doing a lot of impossible things tonight." She laughed, another release of pent-up emotion. She continued, "Harry said to fetch you two and send a letter to Dumbledore. Oh, they're probably fighting Snape right now." Her eyes lit up. "You were able to wake up Alfred! You can do the same for Ron, right?"

Canada frowned, looking down at the red-haired boy. "I don't think so. I know Alfred very, _very _well, so I know what he'd wake up for. Ron… I'm not sure…"

Hermione's face fell. "Oh. I see." Then suddenly she gained an expression appropriate to a scientist about to shout 'Eureka!'. "Wait, I think I have an idea." She knelt next to Ron and said very loudly, "Oh, look, a Chocolate Frog. I guess I'll just open it and eat it. I don't really care about the card. Who is this, Agrippa?"

Ron sat bolt upright, looking around wildly. "Agrippa? Where? I need him for my collection!" He blinked and frowned as he took in his surroundings. "Wait. Where…" His eyes widened. "Oh. Right. I'm still here." He looked at Canada and Hermione. "What are you two still doing here? You won, didn't you?"

Hermione nodded. "We did, Ron, thanks to you. Matthew insisted on staying behind to make sure you were all right, and Snape's puzzle was designed so that only one person could get through, so I had to come back. We need to hurry and send a letter to Dumbledore."

Ron seemed slightly dazed by this wave of new information. "All right. Let's go." Canada helped him to his feet, which he seemed to be blessedly steady on. They headed back to the bird room, Hermione explaining along the way everything that had happened after Ron was knocked out. By the time they opened the door they were all caught up.

There were indeed brooms in the bird room (which they now realized were actually flying keys). They all hopped on, Ron included (though Canada was worried about him falling off if he did indeed have a concussion), and started flying. They flew through the cold, dark passageway, up towards the postage-stamp-sized patch of light that was the trapdoor, past Fluffy (just barely avoiding his teeth and claws), and only got off after they'd exited the forbidden third-floor corridor. "I think we just broke about fifty school rules," said Hermione, looking oddly pleased as they all dropped the brooms and ran towards the owlery. They had just reached the Entrance Hall when they spotted the answer to their prayers.

"Professor Dumbledore!" the three of them cried at once. Indeed, there was the headmaster, but his usual kindly smile had vanished, replaced by a grim frown. He walked over to them.

"Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?" said Dumbledore. From his tone, he already knew the answer.

Canada nodded. "And Alfred went with him, eh." Dumbledore seemed slightly relieved by this news, and, nodding once to the three of them, hurtled off towards the third floor.

Canada, Ron and Hermione all looked at each other, the wind having been blown out of their sails. Their important mission had turned out to be unnecessary. Canada's eyes alighted upon the blood still matted in Ron's hair. "Let's get you to the hospital wing, eh," he whispered. "Dumbledore's here now. They'll be fine." _I just hope America doesn't do anything _too _dung-brained._

**A/N: Short chapter is short, as promised. Have a hug \(^-^)/. We kind of skipped over Snape's challenge, so here's a summary: Screw this sh*t, AMERICAN DOOR KICK! Pages Left: 14. We're getting closer and closer and closer and closer... NEXT CHAPTER: Harry and America face down Voldemort. See you all next time!**


	31. Chapter 30

**CHAPTER 30: THE MAN WITH TWO FACES**

It was Quirrell. "_You!_" gasped Harry.

Alfred was staring open-mouthed at Quirrell. "Wait, what," he said flatly, as if he was too shocked to put the proper emotion in his speech. He overcame that quite quickly, however, because it was almost immediately followed with a huge, "WHAT?!"

Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all. "Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter. I wasn't expecting you to bring friends." Alfred, surprisingly enough, didn't talk back, merely shooting Quirrell a swift glare and scanning the room. Harry hadn't recovered enough to take in his surroundings. His shock and horror only increased as the conversation continued. Quirrell had been the one cursing his broomstick. Snape had been trying to _save _him. And all throughout it, Alfred barely changed his expression, seeming more concerned with the room than these world-shattering revelations. For once, he wasn't smiling.

"… and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight." Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry and Alfred.

Alfred seemed to snap out of his inspection. "Oh, come on, we've already had to deal with this! Not cool, dude!"

Quirrell was not amused. "I've just said I'm going to kill you. Do you really think I care about your comfort? You're both too nosy to live. Scurrying around the school at Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"_You _let the troll in?" Harry could hear the gears in his head screeching as they tried to rearrange themselves to fit this new reality he found himself in.

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls – you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off – and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly. Now, wait quietly, boys. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

It was only then that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised. "This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this… but he's in London… I'll be far away by the time he gets back…"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Dude, it's just a mirror. Stop spazzing out over it." Harry looked at his friend. Was he _trying _to get them killed? He hadn't been at Hogwarts during Harry's nightly visits to the Mirror, but he distinctly remembered telling him about it when he got back. He'd been upset about missing out on an adventure.

All those thoughts were had by some tiny, out-of-the-way place in his brain, because most of it was focused on keeping Quirrell talking and stopping him from concentrating on the mirror. "I saw you and Snape in the forest –" he blurted out.

"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to figure out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me – as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side…"

Alfred looked surprised. "Wait, the bat-dude's a hero? I think my brain's gonna explode."

Quirrell ignored him and came back out from behind the mirror to stare hungrily into it. "I see the Stone… I'm presenting it to my master… but where is it?"

Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn't give. They _had_ to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror. Alfred didn't seem to have the same idea, so it was up to Harry. "But Snape always seemed to hate me so much."

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually. "Heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you _dead_."

"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing – I thought Snape was threatening you…"

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face. Alfred smirked at this show of weakness as Quirrell said, "Sometimes I find it hard to follow my master's instructions – he is a great wizard and I am weak –"

"Hold up. Moldyshorts was in the classroom with you?" Alfred gasped.

Quirrell winced, but seemed to deem correcting Alfred too much of a hassle. Instead he said quietly, "He is with me wherever I go. I met him when I travelled the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it… Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly, and Alfred, for some insane reason, seemed to be repressing laughter. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, he punished me… decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me…"

Quirrell's voice tailed away. Harry was remembering his trip to Diagon Alley – how could he have been so stupid? He'd _seen _Quirrell there that very day, shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron. He would have kicked himself but, you know, ropes. And why on earth were Alfred's shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter?

Quirrell cursed under his breath. "I don't understand… is the Stone _inside _the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry's mind was racing. What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it – which means I'll see where it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realising what I'm up to? He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over, taking a surprised Alfred down with him. Quirrell ignored them yet again. He was still talking to himself. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself. "Use the boys… Use the boys…"

Quirrell rounded on them, glancing between the two for a moment before seeming to make a decision. "Yes – Jones – come here." He clapped his hands once and the ropes binding Alfred fell off. He pushed Harry off of him, gave him a grin and a thumbs up (which made him feel a little better) and jumped to his feet.

"Whaddaya need, turban-squirrell?" Harry couldn't stop himself from sniggering at the nickname. It was times like this that made him glad he was Alfred's friend.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see?" Alfred sauntered over, far more confidently than Harry would have in his shoes. He probably would have shuffled. He couldn't even guess at what was going through Alfred's head at that moment.

Alfred looked into the mirror. Harry couldn't see his expression. After a few moments of silence, Quirrell said impatiently, "Well? What do you see?"

"THE RIGHTEOUS RIGHT-HOOK OF JUSTICE!" Alfred punched Quirrell in the stomach without warning and with enough force to send him flying across the room and to slam into the wall. Harry felt his jaw drop. _Did he drink a potion of super-strength tonight or what?_

Impressive as that display had been, however, it was ultimately pointless. Quirrell recovered while Alfred charged at him and hit the boy with a ray of nasty-looking purple light. Alfred collapsed to the floor, and managed to give Quirrell a murderous glare and rude hand gesture before his head drooped and he fell unconscious.

Quirrell looked both surprised and impressed. "That should have been more than enough to kill him. Ah, well." He waved his wand and Alfred was once again bound in rope. He turned to Harry. "Let's hope you behave yourself better, Potter." He released Harry from his bindings and beckoned him over to the mirror.

Harry walked towards him, his legs shaking. _I must lie. I must look and lie about what I see, that's all. No need to repeat what Alfred did. _Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He shot one last look at Alfred – his eyes were closed, but he could see his back rising and falling as he breathed, which meant he was still alive. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror and opened them again.

**A/N: Yeah, now that America's knocked out, the rest of that scene would continue as normal. At least he was finally able to administer the Righteous Right-Hook of Justice! Hugs for all! \(^-^)/ Pages Left (after skipping over stuff): 9. As for what America really saw in the mirror... you'll just have to wait and see ;D. NEXT CHAPTER: America wakes up. See you all next time!**


	32. Chapter 31

**CHAPTER 31: FOREVER PLAYMATES**

_America ran through the tall grass, tiny legs working wildly to catch up with the raccoon he was chasing. A huge smile was on his face, and his laughter filled the air. Even if England wasn't here, he could still have fun! All the animals were happy to play with him whenever he wanted. He wasn't sure he'd ever run this far, though. He was so caught up in his game that he wasn't concerned with getting lost._

_ Suddenly he crashed into something. "Désolé!" cried out a quiet voice. "Eh… je veux dire... Sorry!" America stared at the person he'd crashed into. It was a boy who looked the same age as him, and just about the same everything else. He was staring at another him! No… wait… the eyes were a different color, the hair was a bit longer and darker at the ends, and a single long curl stuck out. He seemed familiar… where had America seen him before, apart from the mirror…_

_ "Oh! You're my brother!" Now America remembered! England had introduced them, but America had quickly lost interest and gone to bother his big brother. Well, England was gone now, and there wasn't anyone else to play with… "Do you want to play with me?"_

_ His brother (what was his name? It started with a C… or was it a Qu?) stared at him as if he were speaking an alien language. "Eh… play? Zat means jouer, oui? Yes, I want to play wiz you."_

_ America jumped to his feet. "Sweet! I think I've got some marbles." He reached into his small satchel and pulled out a bag of marbles. "Yep! Here they are! You know how to play Ring Taw, right?"_

_ His brother stared at him again, brows knitted together and mouth moving slightly as he tried to work out what America had just said. Eventually he shook his head. "Eh… no, I do not zink so."_

_ "Don't worry, brother of mine! I'll teach you!" And so they spent the next few hours lying on the ground, carefully aiming their Taws to knock each other's marbles out of the ring drawn in the dirt. Trying to explain the rules to his brother had been a bit difficult, but once he'd actually shown him he'd caught on quickly. At first America had won most, then as his brother got better they'd started tying, and by the time the sun started to set his brother had started to win more often than not._

_ America looked up at the sky after losing for the third time in a row. "It looks like it's getting late. I should really be getting home now." He waved at his brother. "Goodbye! Let's play together another time!"_

_ His brother waved back and smiled at him. "I would like zat. Au revoir, frére! Eh… I mean, goodbye, bruzzer!" America set off southwards, feeling much better now that he knew he would always have someone to play with._

America woke up. He knew this, because his body felt much bigger. Not as big as it should, though. Had he been caught in a time warp or something? Oh, right, England had de-agified him and Canada, right? So they could go to Hogwarts… was he still there? Everything seemed a bit fuzzy. He was lying in a bed, but it didn't feel like the one in his dormitory. It reminded him a bit of the hospital wing bed he'd been forced to lie in after that whole flying lesson fiasco.

It took a few more moments of thought before he remembered what might have led to him being there. His eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright. "HARRY!" He looked around and, to his great relief, saw Harry asleep in the bed next to him. He was looking rather pale and had a few cuts and bruises, but he was definitely breathing and alive.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her office towards him, wearing the expression of exasperation mixed with worry often worn by medical professionals dealing with an unruly patient. "Goodness gracious, Mr. Jones, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" She reached his bedside and pushed him back down onto the mattress. "Your friend will be fine. You need to rest after being hit by a curse like that. It's a miracle you're still alive."

America pouted, crossing his arms. "Dude, there's no way I can rest if I don't know what happened!"

The doors to the hospital wing swung open and Dumbledore walked through. "I believe I can answer that question, Mr. Jones." He nodded to Madam Pomfrey. "Poppy, if you would please give us a moment." The matron let out a harrumph, but went back into her office. Dumbledore took a seat next to America's bed and steepled his fingers, smiling kindly at the nation. "I imagine you have plenty of questions, America. I cannot promise to answer all of them, but I will do the best I can."

America could feel his eyes practically bulge out of his sockets. "D-dude… h-how did you find out about… you know…"

"The headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts have always been aware of the existence of the nations," explained Dumbledore. "They have been ever since the four founders of this school taught the British Isles. They have made sure to introduce themselves to every head since – with a few exceptions, of course, if they didn't like them. England informed me of your status when he asked for you and Canada to be enrolled."

America was pretty sure his mouth had formed a perfect O shape. "All right… wait, Iggy went to school here?!"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. He and his siblings started here the very year Hogwarts opened its doors. If you wish to learn more about his school life, I would ask him, as I wasn't there."

The old wizard seemed to have read America's mind, since he'd been about to ask a barrage of questions about exactly that. What house had he been in, had he failed any of his classes, did Peeves ever dump a bucket of something nasty on him… Then he remembered that he should really be asking questions about the events after his collapse. "What happened to Harry?"

Dumbledore's expression became more serious. "He was able to obtain the Philosopher's Stone and defeat Professor Quirrell and Voldemort, though the effort nearly cost him his life." He looked over at Harry, still fast asleep. "He showed great bravery… I shall have to explain quite a bit to him when he awakes."

America wasn't pleased with the lack of elaboration. "Where'd he find the Stone? I couldn't see it, and I looked pretty hard."

Dumbledore smiled, a hint of pride in his voice as he said, "Ah. That was one of my more brilliant ideas, if I do say so myself. The key was the Mirror of Erised, which, as I'm sure Mr. Potter has told you, shows you your heart's desire. If one were to look in the mirror with the greatest desire of finding the Stone, but not to use it, they would find it materialize in their pocket. Professor Quirrell most likely saw himself presenting it to his master. I will not ask what you saw, if you did indeed look into the mirror."

America shrugged. "Meh, it's totally fine. The turban-squirrel made me look in the mirror first, but I guess I was more focused on getting Harry out of there in once piece than on getting the Stone, 'cause I just saw the two of us escaping. Looks like I got my wish, dude!" He grinned, but thought to himself, _I wonder what I would see in it normally…_

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, a simple wish is much easier to fulfill than something more… abstract."

"So, what did happen to the turban-squirrel, anyway?"

"Professor Quirrell is dead."

"Oh." America hadn't been expecting that. Maybe, _He's in custody._ Or, _He is in hospital awaiting trial._ "You mean Harry…"

"Unintentionally. I believe his goal was to keep Quirrell from taking the Stone, and the circumstances were… rather unique."

"Yeah… there's no way Harry would do something like that on purpose." America looked over at Harry. "Still, you should probably keep that little detail to yourself once he wakes up, dude. I doubt he'd take it well."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, he most likely wouldn't. The important thing is that Voldemort has been stopped." He looked at America. "You seem much calmer than usual."

America gave him a crooked smile. "I'm feeling kinda woozy from whatever that curse was. I'll be back up and running around yelling my head off in no time." He yawned. He knew he'd just woken up, but all this talking and thinking had exhausted him.

"I'm sure you will be." Dumbledore stood up. "But until then, it's best that you get your rest. I shall take my leave." He gave America one last smile and walked out of the hospital wing.

America lay his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. Yes… rest sounded good right now… he'd be a hero once he woke up again… Unfortunately, this plan was interrupted when a voice said, "Who was that?"

"That was Professor Dumbledore, eh." America's eyes flew open again and he stared at the chair on the other side of his bed. Canada was sitting there, a book open on his lap and his bear sitting on the ground beside him.

"Dude, when did you get here?!" America hadn't noticed him at all.

"I've been here since before you woke up," whispered Canada. "You seemed so busy talking to Professor Dumbledore I didn't want to interrupt, eh. You should really get some more sleep."

America sat up again. Suddenly he was feeling more energetic. "Nope, I'm feeling way better now!" The memory he'd been dreaming about before he'd woken up floated into his consciousness. "Let's play something! Got any marbles?"

Canada blinked, closing his book. "I think I've got some Gobstones. They're basically marbles, but they squirt stuff at you when you do badly, eh."

America grinned. "That sounds awesome! Let's play!" And so they played, with America feeling himself becoming more enthusiastic with every game. They only stopped when America let out a particularly loud shout and Madam Pomfrey stormed in, telling Canada to leave because he was disturbing the patient. America waved goodbye as she dragged Canada over to the door, and his brother waved back. Always having someone to play with really did make him feel better.

**A/N: I felt a bit distracted while writing this. I've been playing Dragon Age: The Last Court in anticipation of Inquisition. Less than a week to go! I really need to pre-order it. Anyways, back to the story, hugs! \(^-^)/ Please forgive my horrible GoogleTranslate French! I figured at that point in history Canada was still learning how to speak proper English (and he was also called the British Province of Quebec or something). I think it's now my headcanon that Canada says 'eh' so much because he used to say it when he was trying to mentally translate between French and English. Pages Left (after skipping stuff, of course): 3. GAH SO CLOSE SO CLOSE ERMAHGERD! NEXT CHAPTER: Canada attends the end-of-year feast and sees who wins the House Cup. See you all next time!**


	33. Chapter 32

**CHAPTER 32: THE RESULTS ARE IN**

Canada looked around the Great Hall. It was decorated in the Slytherin colours of moss green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. He had to admit, that did seem like quite the achievement. The rest of his house seemed to be feeling the same way. They seemed a bit disappointed they weren't winning, but, hey, at least they weren't in last! That… pleasure… went to Gryffindor, and they were _not _looking happy about it. Canada was glad he'd been Sorted into Hufflepuff. They seemed to be much more graceful losers.

From his seat at the Hufflepuff table, he could see America, Ron and Hermione sitting at the Gryffindor table. They were all looking very bummed out. America, Canada knew, was definitely _not _a graceful loser. He looked about ready to flip the table. Canada hoped he didn't, because it was a huge table and would just make people suspicious. Also, it would probably crush the people on the other side.

The door opened and Harry slipped in, looking perfectly healthy again. The entire Hall went quiet for a moment, then began talking loudly again. The topic of conversation had changed, of course, to the rumours of his exploits. At some point everyone had become convinced he'd fought a dragon, almost gotten crushed by a huge stone ball and outrun an explosion. Canada blamed America.

Dumbledore arrived a few moments later, and the babble died away almost instantly. "Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts… Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with two hundred and sixty-two points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three-hundred and seventy-eight; Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Canada tried to feel happy for them, he really did, but even he found it difficult to empathize with their sneering faces, especially Draco Malfoy's. "Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account." The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little. "Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes… First – to Mr. Ronald Weasley…" Even from another table, Canada could see Ron's face go purple. "… for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. They really were a rowdy bunch, weren't they? Percy Weasley could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last there was silence again. "Second – to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." The Gryffindors seemed to be beside themselves- they were a hundred points up, it was understandable. The other Houses, meanwhile, were growing nervous. How many more points were they going to get?! In any case, Hermione had buried her face in her arms, and Canada suspected she had burst into tears. Happy tears, hopefully.

"Third – to Mr. Alfred Jones…" said Dumbledore. America froze, eyes glued on Dumbledore as he continued, "… for employing ingenuity to find alternative paths, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." The Gryffindors let out another huge cheer, and America's was the loudest of them all. Canada chuckled. Ingenuity was one word for the 'American Door Kick', he supposed… His fellow Hufflepuffs weren't nearly as amused. Any mirth left him when he saw their faces fall as they realized they were in last place. He thought he saw a few burst into tears.

"Fourth – to Mr. Matthew Jones…" Canada blinked, while everyone else whispered among themselves wondering who 'Matthew Jones' was. "… for refusing to abandon a fallen friend and showing the loyalty and compassion valued in any Hufflepuff, I award Hufflepuff fifty points." Suddenly everyone's eyes found Canada. The cheering wasn't quite as loud as the Gryffindors', but that just meant there was less danger of anyone going deaf. Suddenly Canada was enveloped in hugs, pats on the shoulder and head, and congratulations. Once again, Hufflepuff wasn't in last! Now Ravenclaw had that privilege.

Canada was so dazed from all the attention he barely heard Dumbledore say, "Fifth – to Mr. Harry Potter…" The room went deadly quiet. "… for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points." The din was deafening even at another table. Gryffindor and Slytherin were now tied for first place. But Canada got the feeling Dumbledore wouldn't leave it at that.

And indeed, Dumbledore raised his hand for quiet and said, smiling, "There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom." Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron and Hermione stood up to yell and cheer while America joined the group that buried Neville in hugs. Canada was pretty sure the boy had never won a single point for Gryffindor before. Canada was a bit surprised to find his own house cheering as well, along with Ravenclaw. It seemed everyone was glad to see Slytherin's winning streak finally over.

"Which means," Dumbledore called out over the storm of applause. "We need a little change of decoration." He clapped his hands, and the green hanging became scarlet and the silver became gold. The huge Slytherin serpent hanging behind the staff table was replaced by a towering lion. Professor Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, looking like someone who'd just eaten one of England's scones and was trying not to hurt his feelings and tell him it was good.

As they ate the feast, Canada's neighbours kept patting him on the shoulder and congratulating him, or asking for his explanation of what happened beyond the trapdoor. For once, he seemed to be the center of attention. Even if they hadn't won the Cup, Canada still felt that this was the best evening at Hogwarts yet.

**A/N: Short chapter is short. Yay, Canada's house finally notices him! And when they returned to the common room, nobody sat on him. Hugs for everyone! \(^-^)/ I figured Hufflepuff would take the viewpoint of, "We didn't win, but, hey, we aren't in last! Yay!" They're really the Canada of Hogwarts: Ridiculously nice but often ignored. I tweaked Gryffindor' and Hufflepuff's final scores, to show America's points taken away for the former and to make it so that Canada didn't have to win a ridiculous number of points to get them ahead of Ravenclaw for the latter. Just pretend that Canada answered some questions right and won some points over the course of the year. Pages Left: 1 1/2. NEXT, AND FINAL, CHAPTER: Harry says goodbye to everyone. See you all next time!**


	34. Chapter 33

**CHAPTER 33: I HOPE SO**

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise, both he and Ron passed with good marks; Hermione, of course, came top of the year. Alfred's marks were somewhat lackluster ("Whatever, dude, Einstein totally got bad grades, too!"), but he still passed. Matthew's grades were much higher, second only to Hermione ("I guess all that time in the library did some good, eh."). Even Neville scraped through, his good Herbology mark making up for his abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he passed, too. It was a shame, but as Ron said, you couldn't have everything in life.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays (Alfred in particular was extremely unhappy about this); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats (Alfred and Matthew put on the same bomber jacket and red-and-white hoodie, respectively, that they had been wearing on the train back in September); pulling into platform nine and three quarters at King's Cross Station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles. Harry, Ron and Hermione were grouped together, while Alfred and Matthew were next in line.

"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron. "All of you – I'll send you an owl."

"Thanks," said Harry. "I'll need something to look forward to."

Alfred looked a bit uncomfortable as he said, "Sorry, dude, I don't think me or Mattie can go. We're probably gonna be pretty busy this summer."

Matthew nodded. "Sorry, eh. It sounds really lovely, though."

Harry, Ron and Hermione were motioned to go through the barrier. People jostled them as they moved forwards towards the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:

"Bye, Harry!"

"See you, Potter!"

"Still famous," said Ron, grinning at him.

"Not where I'm going, I promise you," said Harry. He, Ron and Hermione passed through the gateway together.

"There he is, Mum, there he is, look!" It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she wasn't pointing at Ron. "Harry Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mum! I can see-"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point." Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them. "Busy year?" she said.

"Very," said Harry. "Thanks for the fudge and the jumper, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

"ALFRED, YOU IDIOT!" Pretty much everyone turned to look at the source of the noise. Alfred and Matthew had come through the barrier and been confronted by the same angry-looking blonde man with thick eyebrows that had been lecturing Alfred in September. _Oh, this must be 'Iggy'._ The man continued, no longer shouting but still quite loud, "I told you to leave off it and let the adults take care of it, but did you listen to me? NO! You just had to go and play the hero and put your friends' lives in danger! Why do I even bother with you? You never do what I tell you to, no matter how stupid it is!" He turned on Matthew. "And you! Grow a spine, already, and stop letting him be such a horrible influence! You could have tried talking him out of it, but no, you just had to go along with his hare-brained scheme! And whatever happened to 'I'll write you again when anything interesting happens'? I had no warning you two were about to do something so stupid until Dumbledore wrote me after the fact!"

Matthew shuffled his feet. "Sorry."

Alfred wasn't nearly as apologetic. He was grinning, completely unfazed. "Nice to see you're as spazz-tastic as ever, dude. Next time we have a super-aweomse-ultra-heroic adventure, we'll make sure to write you a letter, then do it anyway!" While Arthur obviously tried to restrain himself from having another outburst, Alfred went over to Harry, Ron and Hermione and gave them all a huge, lung-crushing hug. "See you guys in a few months!" He let them go before the oxygen deprivation became too uncomfortable.

Matthew stepped in and hugged them each individually. "Have a good summer, eh," he said.

Harry nodded. "You, too. We'll see you in September!"

Matthew stayed quiet for a few moments, then murmured, "I hope so." The twins went to join Arthur and walked towards the exit, Arthur's lecturing and Alfred's insubordinate remarks audible even after they disappeared into the crowds.

**A/N: And so, we reach the end. Pages Left: 0. Have a hug, everyone, we did it! \(^-^)/ Thank you all for your reviews, favourites, alerts and views. And in reply to the question at least some of you seem to have: It is definitely my intention to write a sequel! I might take a bit of a break first, but I'm pretty pumped about it, so it shouldn't be TOO long of a wait. Hopefully I'll see you all there! Farewell, beautiful readers! \(^-^)**


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